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IKHelleele^ /IDaoasine 


Zagloba, the "Modern Falstaff" 

Cram's Boarding House . 

Miss Stuart's Commencement 

A Gentleman and his Friend 

To my St. Cecilia Pin 

A Studio Episode 

Some Trite Things 


The Cure 



Free Press 

Book Reviews 


College Bulletin 

Society Notes 

College Notes 

Alumnae Notes 



Deaths . 

M. W. Loughridge 
Grace L. Cook, '99 
Blanche Louise Clay, '92 
M. E. S. 
C. B. M. 

Julia D. Randall, '97 
M. O. Malone 
C. B. M. 






















tool. id. — IRovember, 1896 — mo. 2 

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The Welle sley Magazine. 

Vol. V. WELLESLEY, NOVEMBER 21, 1896. No. 2. 









The Welleslet Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss G. M. Dennison, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
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Terms, $1.75 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


After reading Sienkiewicz's marvelous trilogy, one cannot help 
wondering how far, after all, the learned, civilized age has the better of it. 
Our sober sense tells us that civilization is progress, and age is better than 
childhood ; yet there certainly is something beautiful in the life of that 
simple, childlike people which is lost to nations of maturer growth. The 
whole tone of the life is as fresh and bracing as the air of their boundless 
steppes. Their virtues and vices are both so vigorous and positive. Nothing 
of either has been refined away. Strong impulses and passions made them 
fierce and vengeful, and they lived in scenes of slaughter and cruelty dread- 
ful beyond description. But, on the other hand, they loved as strongly as 
they hated. Like Kmita, they battled against their own unbridled natures 
with more courage than against the enemy. They were honest and brave. 


They fought because it Avas the only way they knew to protect themselves, 
and with it all were inspired by a deep, self-sacrificing love of country, and 
a childlike trust in God. It is this pure light of patriotism and piety shin- 
ing over the whole wild, fierce existence of this people, which makes it so 
beautiful. Their country was their mother, whom they must love and pro- 
tect ; and as they fought for her, riding by day over the free steppes, and 
camping at night under the innumerable stars, they looked "through nature 
up to nature's God." Every living thing taught them, and the oaks for each 
man, as for Podbipienta, their pure knight, muttered their prayer, "O great 
God, good God, guard this knight, for he is thy servant, and a faithful son 
of the land on which we have grown up for thy glory." 

There could not be a stronger contrast than that between this clear, 
healthful atmosphere in which our modern FalstalF moved, and the hot, foul 
air of the brothels and taverns, where we find Shakespeare's Falstaff. It is 
the difference between pure nature, even with its Caliban, and the subtle cor- 
ruption of civilization, with its Trinculo, its Sebastian, and Antonio. We 
have to go into such bad company if we want to see Jack Falstaff. To 
be sure, we enjoy ourselves to a shocking extent, for every one of the vulgar, 
disreputable crew is interesting, from Bardolph the old toper, with his fiery 
nose, down to vulgar Dame Quickly, who enjoys Sir Jack's jokes as much as 
any of us. Neither is Zagloba's company always of the best, for if the mead 
is acceptable he is not apt to draw too fine distinctions as to the host, — al- 
though, of course, as he explains to the Cossacks, a noble can't be expected 
to drink with them and pay for it, too. But his true friends and sworn 
brothers are the noblest knights of the army. We see him puffing along 
after Skshetuski, or delightedly backing up Volodyovski, "his first pupil" 
in that valiant little man's many duels. But there is no one whom he more 
thoroughly enjoys than Podbipienta — Podbipienta, who, with the great, 
brave body of a hero, has a heart as loving and trusting as that of a little 
child, and a soul as pure as the forehead of a saint. And no one loves him 
more for these very qualities than old Zagloba : but the sight of this mild, 
sweet-faced giant going about with the fierce "sword of his ancestors," and 
sighing pleasantly for three heads at a blow, is too much for Zagloba's sense 
of humor ; and if Podbipienta were not as patient as a lamb, his life would be 
made miserable for him. 


It is this difference in surroundings and circumstances which gives the 
key to the different treatment which Shakespeare and Sienkiewicz have given 
to the character. Zagloba's nature is clear and open, developed on many 
sides. But Falstaff is a puzzle. We never see the real man. We always 
keep wondering about him, and can only know him as we know those about 
us. And for this reason he is the greater creation of the two. 

Zagloba's first appearance is eminently characteristic, and we might 
almost mistake him for the fat knight of Eastcheap as he swaggers up to 
Skshetuski and, jovially blinking his one sound eye, points to the bullet hole 
— that immortal and ever-useful bullet hole — and announces that he is 
Yan Zagloba, whose escutcheon is "In the Forehead," due to this bullet 
hole, which he received (this time) from the bullets of robbers in the Holy 
Land. And perhaps our second view of him, as we see that broad back 
just disappearing beneath the door of a drinking saloon, is even more charac- 
teristic. The amount of mead which this fat old man could take was only 
equaled by Falstaffs consumption of sack. They remind us of "Guzzling 
Jack and Gorging Jimmie." Yet neither of them ever gets disgustingly 
drunk. Several gallons of beer only succeed in giving Zagloba a seriously 
reflective turn of mind as when, sadly raising his eyes "he saw that the 
heavenly bodies were no longer fastened quietly in the firmament like golden 
nails, but were tumbling as if they wished to spring from their settings," he 
solemnly said to his musing soul, "Is it possible that I alone in the universe 
am not drunk?" Podbipienta accuses him of taking up liquor like a well 
sweep ; whereupon Zagloba retorts that " he had better not look down the well, 
for he would see nothing wise at the bottom of it." But Podbipienta, as 
well as everybody else, goes on paying for Zagloba's drinks ; as who would not 
for the sake of such good company ? Besides, he always has such good excuses 
that you cannot reasonably blame him. " His barber has required him to 
drink it to drive the melancholy from his head." He is "forced to use 
stimulants," though "by nature opposed to drink." And mead is " excel- 
lent " to make the mind quick and the "blood lively." Falstaff advised 
sherris sack for a " brilliant wit." 

If we were to follow either prescription we should probably take the 
sherris sack ; for though Zagloba's fun was more genial and was utterly 
irresistable, yet no one has ever been as witty as Falstaff. He always 


remains the "Prince of Humorists." But if Hal's "fat rogue" would tell 
the most incomprehensible lies that were ever heard, Zagloba was only 
second to him, and, "Lord, Lord, how subject these old men were to the 
vice of lying ! " According to their own tales both were lovely youths, the 
adored of ladies. Zagloba sang "very beautifully," while FalstafFs voice 
was doubtless no less sweet, but, unfortunately, he had lost it "through 
singing of anthems." Yet both retained in old age the agility of their 
younger days, and Zagloba would "turn handsprings with a monkey," 
while Falstaff cordially invited the Chief Justice to lend him a thousand 
pounds, and he would caper for it with anybody. They were not only 
accomplished, they were brave. " Not a dangerous action " could peep out 
his head "but old Sir John was thrust upon it." He only wished his 
" name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is," while Zagloba's daring 
was such that he was often deterred from entering an engagement for fear 
that his overwhelming rashness might sweep him too far. 

And then Zagloba could show proofs, good palpable proofs, such as 
Falstaff never had. If anyone doubted that he, Zagloba, had, single-handed, 
killed eleven men, or done any other of a hundred different brave deeds — 
why, there was the bullet hole ; you could see for yourself. And the various 
versions of the origin of this convenient scar increased almost as rapidly as 
FalstafFs robbers. But though the bullet hole answered on most occasions, 
there were times when it was not entirely satisfactory ; as, for instance, in 
testifying to Zagloba's youthful beauty, or to his close personal intimacy 
with his hearers' great, great-grandfathers. But Boh, the faithful, deluded 
fellow, never fails "Uncle." His presence gives, perhaps, the richest touch 
to Zagloba's humor, and one to which Falstaff has no parallel, although it is 
very like Shakespeare's usual parody action. Boh goes about with " Uncle" 
like a living satire, and Zagloba's wildest tales come down to us with the 
solemn asseveration, "Uncle said it;" "Uncle can do it;" "Uncle never 
lies ! " 

Falstaff did his boasting chiefly from the humor of it and for the prac- 
tical end which he wanted to gain, and not because he desired, especially, 
people's good opinion. He never deceived himself, and knew he could not 
really deceive others. But Zagloba's boasting came, also, from an innocent 
vanity, — a very human longing to be appreciated. And when he had told a 


story often enough he almost came to believe it himself. The old man was 
never happier than when he found a new audience to whom he could relate his 
valorous deeds, and " in the absence of other listeners he loved to tell even 
the children of his triumphs." He was charmed with Prince Yanush. 
"There is not such another man in the commonwealth. Did you notice 
how he had all my exploits in his memory?" 

Zagloba's wit was no less quick in action than in speech, and though a 
very stout old gentleman indeed, he never got into such a tight place that he 
was not able to squeeze out of it somehow. Like " plump Jack," he " lards 
the lean earth as he walks along," but it only serves to smooth his path and 
make walking easier. He never despairs in any difficulty where a strata- 
gem can help him out ; and when Podbipienta's big sword is of no avail, and 
Volodyovski's big mustaches, instead of working fiercely up and down, 
droop helplessly, the old man squares himself, and tapping his head, in- 
quires, " Do you see that old head? It did not grow on a cabbage." And 
truly it did not, for even that "oily rascal" Sir Jack, when he feigns 
death before Douglas, cannot surpass Zagloba's masterpiece — Zagloba as 
he escapes from the armed guard, disguised by Pan Commandant's cape 
and helmet, and riding gaily off on Pan Commandant's own good horse. 
And finally, as a delicate finishing touch, he so captivates Pan Commandant 
himself, that that stupid soul becomes his faithful nephew for life. 

Falstaff made everyone whom he met his tool and dupe, and, as is 
usually the case, he was duped hiniself at last. Zagloba had the same 
ability to read men and things, the same powers of " moral suasion," but he 
did not use it so selfishly and unscrupulously. And though he chuckled to 
himself, and puffed out his fat cheeks for pure joy in the thought of how r 
easily he could twist people around his finger, yet it was rather from delight 
in his ow r n wit and with scarcely any thought of what he might gain by it. The 
rogue so completely turns the weak head of Lyubominski by his outrageous 
flattery, that that poor man not only gives up the command, which he desires 
above all things to keep, but fairly forces it upon Charnyetski. And the 
foxy old Vice Chancellor, the most polished diplomat in the kingdom, is no 
more successful in outwitting Zagloba than is the vain Lyubominski. 
Zagloba, at first, seems greatly impressed by the Vice Chancellor's elo- 
quence and good judgment — especially as regards Zagloba's own abilities; 


and though modestly disclaiming the title of "Ulysses," still he appears to 
agree with all his lordship's suggestions. But just as the Vice Chancellor, 
more impressed than ever with his own eloquence, rises to take his depar- 
ture, Zagloba detains him a moment just to say that "his dignity should 
not think to himself thuswise : ' 1 have twisted the fool in my hand as if 
he were wax ; I have let myself be persuaded, in fine, not because I am a 
fool, but for the reason that when a wise man tells me a wise thing, old 
Zagloba says, 'Agreed!'" Whereupon "his dignity" was much pleased. 
And this was the most fascinating thing about Zagloba's cajoleries, — his vic- 
tims were always charmed with him, and, as he said, " no cabinet maker 
could join inlaid work better." And the old wheedler had such a kindly, 
patronizing way of referring to his dupes : " If he were my knife, and I 
carried him in my belt, I would whet him on a stone pretty often, for he is 
a trifle dull ; but he is a good man." 

Falstaff was seldom placed in any very perilous position, but Zagloba 
seemed to have a faculty for getting into trouble. He did not seek posts of 
responsibility, but he always had them thrust upon him. And he was equal 
to any emergency. He could command a camp with the dignity of a starosta. 
He took great care always to have the bunchuk waving above his head, and 
gave orders with such an imposing air that he even impressed Pan Yan and 
Pan Michael, though they both knew perfectly well that the old fraud would 
have been frightened to death if he had actually been attacked. He insisted 
on going to comfort Pan Michael for the death of his sweetheart ; and although 
he did not hasten with the speed which his "traveling shirt rubbed with 
goats' tallow" might indicate, still he arrived at just the right moment, and 
his rather vigorous method of sympathy was the one of all others best suited 
to the case. When Basia, his " little haiduk," lay between life and death, old 
Zaaloba, though tears were running down his cheeks, and his heart was almost 
breaking, yet thought, first of them all, to send for a priest and a doctor, 
" even if } r ou have to bring him a bag." 

Zagloba and Falstaff were both fat, ugly old nobles, who loved to eat, 
and to drink good wine, to tell the most palpable and ridiculous lies. They 
were always shaking with laughter and bubbling over with fun. And both 
had shrewd judgments and quick wits in every emergency. But here the 
resemblance ends ; the likeness is one of body and brain, not of heart and soul. 


Falstaff has been able to " turn " everyone, from Prince Hal down, "into 
merriment ; " and no matter how severe we feel we ouo;ht to be, we lausdi at 
him, and we love him " for the good angel that is about him, but the Devil 
outbids him too," and all the while down in our hearts we know that he was 
one, of the meanest men that ever lived. Selfishness, utter and 'unrelieved, 
was the root of all his evil, and made him a coward, a knave, and, shrewd 
though he was, a fool. He had no reverence for womanhood, no honor 
toward men, and loved neither his country nor his God. He was almost 
utterly hardened in heart and soul. 

What made Zagloba so different from Falstaff, so really noble, and so 
very, very lovable, was his great, tender, generous heart. 

It is this which makes him brave. He is no more fond of fighting than 
is valiant Jack Falstaff. But while FalstafTs cowardice came only from a lack 
of moral sentiment, Zagloba had a real physical terror to overcome. When- 
ever it was possible he took up an honorable position in the rear, so that the 
enemy might not be paralyzed by the mere sight of him. But between the 
reputation acquired by his own boasting and the fate that placed him in the 
Landa squadron, he was obliged to do some severe fighting. He went in with 
his eyes shut, and thinking desperately, "Stratagem is nothing; the stupid 
win, the wise perish!" and only when the affair was well over did he begin 
to plume himself on the glory he had won. Then, indeed, he made the most 
of it, and threw down that banner, which like Coleville of the Dale had 
"given" itself away, with such a pompous air that all the common soldiers 
pointed him out as the one who had killed the most men that day. But when, 
at Zmost, Zagloba sees the great, brave body of Podbipienta hanging from the 
enemies' gallows, the old man wholly forgets himself, and, with his white hair 
streaming in the breeze, rushes out, before all the others, right in the face of 
the enemy. His heart is almost bursting with grief and rage, and he fights 
like a lion until the gigantic body is rescued and laid beneath that cross which 
Podbipienta worshiped so purely. And above the solemn tone of the beauti- 
ful funeral service we hear Zagloba's stifled sobs. 

Zagloba's heart is large enough to take in his whole common wealth. 
Falstaff regards the wars chiefly in the light of a possible remedy for his 
"consumption of the purse," but Zagloba mourns sincerely for his country's 
perils. His eye loses its wicked twinkle and flashes fiercely, and his clumsy 


figure is drawn up with real dignity, as be fearlessly denounces Boguslav, 
the traitor. He will always fight for his country. "I? Will I not go? If 
my feet had taken root in the earth, I might not go ; but even then I should 
ask some one to dig me out." 

With the patriotism of his people he has, also, their piety, and as be 
loves his fellow-men he loves and trusts his God. When Helena is found to 
be alive, Zagloba first of all said, "And now let us thank God," and prayed 
long and fervently. And always he says, "As God wills;" although if it is 
His will "to favor hell with more inhabitants," Zagloba would like to have 
the naming of them. 

But perhaps nowhere is the contrast between Falstaff and Zagloba more 
marked than in their relations toward women. We see Falstaff' only with 
low, wicked women. He stabs Dame Quickly in her own house. To be sure, 
she is only a silly, soft-hearted old creature, but she did the best she knew 
for Falstaff, and was, perhaps, as true a friend as the lonely old man ever had. 
Zagloba's sympathetic nature gives to the clumsy soldier a chivalry and 
courtesy which would have graced any knight of old. He risked his life, and, 
what was perhaps even more of a sacrifice, gave up, for days, mead and 
other necessaries of life to rescue a distressed maiden. He treated her with 
the tact and delicacy of a woman, and beguiled the tedious way with such 
stories of her absent lover as only Zagloba could tell. And he cannot bear to 
cut off her hair ; "the act seems disgraceful " to him. But what can one say 
of Zagloba and Basia, bright, sweet Basia, his little haiduk. He loves her 
more than he loves anyone else in the world. They are always together. 
She seems to belong to him even more than to Michael, and our last glimpse 
of her is as she lies stricken with sorrow in Zagloba's arms. 

Perhaps there is no way in which we should rather remember Zagloba 
than as he sits out under the trees in the warm spring sunshine playing with 
Helena's children. As he sits on the bench between them, he tells them 
wonderful stories of the many men he and their father have killed, but stops 
himself in the midst of a sentence, for he "saw that it did not become him to 
swear or adjure before little boys." They climb about his knees and stroke 
his white hair, and tugging lustily at his boot-legs beg him, "Grandfather, 
be Bogun, be Bogun." Then the old man, grumbling that they "give him no 
peace," plays Bogun time after time, while the children shout around him. 


We cannot imagine Falstaff in such a scene. He had none of that sweet- 
ness of old age which is so close to childhood. The words, "I am old, I am 
old," are only the dreary echo of a misspent life. Though there was some- 
thing in the man that made all love him, so that even worthless Bardolph 
says, "Would I were with him wheresoe'er he is, either in heaven or hell ! " 
yet there was no "room in his bosom" for "faith, truth, or honesty." And 
not of Sir Jack, but of Zagloba, our modern Falstaff, can it rightly be said a 
"truer-hearted man never lived." 



Not far from the Boston Public Garden there is — or was, a few years 
as;o — a certain boarding house which two or three hard-worked Technol- 
ogy students found convenient. The students were not alone there. The 
two long tables were surrounded by men and women, young and old, — 
clerks, for the most part, and dressmakers, and literary hacks who aspired 
to better things. These last, with their ready criticism of current events 
(and books are the events in Boston), maintained, between mouthfuls of 
pie, the standard of culture for the company. Besides the regular custom- 
ers, who paid three dollars and a half a week, and could get trusted for two 
weeks, there were the " transients," glad of a hearty twenty-five cent dinner 
that began with thick soup and progressed beyond the roast, and four kinds 
of dessert with cheese, to fruit and coifee. He was a bold transient, how- 
ever, who dared to venture a word in the conversation of the regulars. 
While the fate of Mr. Aldrich's poems was being decided, the tailor-made 
milliner whispered with the second violin man of the Symphony Orchestra, 
and Aunt Tabby, aged eighty, swept by in her ragged black silk, aged per- 
haps sixty. In the midst of the loud talking, the eager proprietor, whose 
name was Cram, bounced around the table like a football in a white apron. 
"Roast beef, lamb, and beefsteak," he said, breathlessly, over the shoulder 
of each diner. "Yes; rare, well-done, or medium?" Then he rolled to 
the dumb waiter and roared into the abyss, " Two rare, one medium, three 
lambs, and one steak well done." This roaring never disturbed the gravity 
of the regulars. A recognized code of good manners was rigidly observed. 


In carrying his food to his mouth a man might use both knife and fork, 
in deft alternation, hut during the gorging process he might not refer with 
levity to the name of his host. Cram's boarding house knew not levity. 

Grace L. Cook, '99. 


It was a snowy, blowy morning in December, and the great square 
white house, with its big tapering chimneys, and the thickly piled white 
covering upon its hip roof, looked an almost dingy gray. A climbing 
rosebush beside the broad, old-fashioned front door rustled drearily in the shrill 
wind that whistled around the corners of the building. The man}'-paned 
windows, with the frost showing wrong side out on the glass, were bleak 
and ghastly amid their fiercely driven snow embankments. The sky was 
cheerless, the driveway untracked, and the huge door rock deeply buried. 

Inside, at the sitting-room window, stood Miss Eleanor, looking out 
upon what she could see of it all, and smiling. Miss Stuart never minded 

She was sixty-two, with wavy hair only a trifle gray, her face, rather 
thin and not beautiful, lighted by kindly blue eyes with a smile in them, a 
countenance wholly sweet, and sympathetic, and refined. 

She came away from the window, and went over to the little air-tight 
stove, where she stood warming her hands, thinking, and still smiling, as she 
gazed absently at the well-filled bookshelves which lined the old-fashioned 
room. For this was a red-letter day in Miss Stuart's life. She had com- 
pleted her college course. 

A veritable college course, although not taken according to the tradi- 
tional method. Always fond of study, she had been from her youth a 
critical and omnivorous reader ; but until fifty-eight had never, since she 
was " finished " at the seminary there in East H , undertaken any regu- 
lar intellectual work. To go to college, however, had been the desire of 
her lifetime. Her father had been a scholar, a preacher, and a professor. 
Her brother had graduated with high honors from Harvard University. Her 
sister had married a clergyman of great intellectual power. It is not 
strange that Miss Eleanor should have imbibed the family spirit. But in 


her younger daj's the woman's college was not so generally known, and 
Miss Stuart had been forced to give up her dearest wish. 

Suddenly, four years ago, when she was fifty-eight, as has been hinted, 
a brilliant idea had occurred to her. Why could she not take the entire 
college course at home, by herself? True, she would lose much, and there 
would be numerous disadvantages arising from work without a teacher ; but 
her father's library, which was fairly large, the inspiration of her father's 
and her brother's example, some practical knowledge gained from a little 
teaching, and a lifetime of rich experience and of deep and varied reading, 
would aid in overcoming these obstacles. She wrote to one of the women's 
colleges for a catalogue, studied it carefully, laid out a course of study, pur- 
chased the required text-books, and devoted her mornings, the year round, 
to working for her bachelor's degree. 

And now, to the best of her ability, she had finished. Not to the best 
advantage, perhaps, but Miss Stuart knew that in many respects she stood 
in advance of the modern college woman, if only she might celebrate her 
graduation in some way. She smiled to herself, and admitted that it was 
foolish, ridiculous even, but she did want to end it all as the others do, and 
receive a diploma of some sort. One part of herself seemed always wanting 
to indulge in wild freaks, which the other part smilingly, almost shame- 
facedly, permitted. Such was the case now. Why should she not have her 
degree, if she wished for it? 

" I will," she said, " even if I have to make it." 

The words suggested a happy thought. Why could she not make it, 
and have a real graduation besides ? No one but herself need ever know of 
her folly. But how to celebrate ? 

She remembered a huge block of drawing paper which she had found 
one day while ransacking the lower cupboard of one of the bookcases over in 
the corner. She had used a few sheets for sketching during the summer, 
but the others must be as white and spotless as ever. Miss Stuart brought 
it out now, tore off several layers before finding a piece of suitable color 
and texture, and examined it critically. 

" it isn't sheepskin," she remarked, as she searched through her workbox 
for the traditional blue ribbon ; " still, it will do, and I can imagine it is all 
that it should be." 


The ribbon, however, failed to appear. All that could be found was a 
piece of vivid red. Even Miss Eleanor knew that crimson stood for 
Harvard. The fact occurred to her now, and gave her an idea. 

Hem-y's degree, framed, hung in the room overhead. She would get it, 
copy the Latin inscription upon her sheet of paper, substituting her name 
for Henry's, and there would be her diploma complete. 

She hastened upstairs, turned the handle of the chamber door, and went 
in. It was a place seldom entered. The close, musty air, colder even than 
that of the hall, rushed about her in ghostly welcome as she crossed the 
threshold. The thick frost, entirely covering every pane of glass, half con- 
cealed the snow piled high on window ledge and sash without. Everything 
in the room was older and quainter than anything elsewhere in the old house, 
and everything suggested or belonged to some one who was dead : a sampler 
worked in childhood by the aunt for whom Miss Eleanor was named ; a 
spread knit by Miss Eleanor's grandmother at eighty-five, and the egg-shell 
china with which she " went to housekeeping"; Professor Stuart's first book 
in manuscript ; a letter of Mrs. Stuart's, written after first seeing the man 
who subsequently became her husband, and describing his sermon (it was 
his very earliest effort) with a sweet earnestness, which caused Eleanor to 
weep and her father to smile when they read it for the first time, — the one 
fifty, and the other thirty years afterwards. 

Miss Stuart paid no heed to any of these things, but walked straight to 
the empty fireplace, over which hung a picture of a young man in the garb 
of fifty years ago, bearing a strong resemblance to herself, while a college 
diploma, yellow with age, occupied the space directly beneath. 

This picture Miss Stuart did notice ; and just here her age proved dis- 
tinctly against her. Young collegians do not have to construct their own 
degrees. Young collegians are not sent back over fifty years of time into a 
dead world of memory by everything they touch, and see, and taste, and 
smell, as old collegians are, particularly when the old collegian is the last of 
his race. Miss Eleanor was an old collegian. When she returned to the 
sitting room, after a long time, her eyes were very red and her fingers very 
blue, but she was perfectly calm. 

She seated herself at the desk, arranged her paper, dipped her pen into 
the ink, and carefully began work. "Senatus Universitatis Cantabrigiensis 


Academicus" came first. Of course she could not begin in that way. What 
should she put there? Miss Eleanor had not specialized in ancient lan- 
guages during her college course, and was not sure what the Latin rendering 
of the name of her Alma Mater might be. She therefore decided to retain 
the English. "In Republica Massachusettensi" followed. That was easily 
copied, as was "Omnibus ad qitos hae literae pervenerint, Salutem." 
"Cum ." It was all plain sailing now. 

She changed the date to suit the present occasion, and the name of the 
president of her own college was substituted for that of Harvard's admin- 

"Now," she said, when she had finished her copying, and had carefully 
tied the bright ribbon, " I must have an order of exercises." 

Miss Stuart remembered enough of her brother's graduation, just forty 
years ago, to be aware that in order to make her programme complete she 
must include a class day, a class dinner, guests, concerts, and baccalaureate 
sermon, but she decided upon only the essentials. There should be a com- 
mencement ode and address, the conferring of the degree, and a reception. 

The commencement address delivered to the Class of '5- was in a drawer 
in that room upstairs, but Miss Eleanor had not thought of it when she was 
there, and she could not gain courage to go again. The commencement ode 
of the same class was framed and hung beneath the diploma. That she had 
thought of, but nothing could tempt her to disturb or read or sing those 
lines, which were the last that the young baccalaureate had ever written. 
She therefore hunted out a volume of Everett's orations, selecting an address 
written for an earlier Harvard class. Her ode, which ran to the air of 

" Fair Harvard," was one composed by some youthful bard of East H 

Seminary, while her father was at the helm. 

These preliminary arrangements concluded, Miss Eleanor established 
herself comfortably in a big rocking-chair and listened to her own reading of 
the oration. After the conferring of degrees, which consisted merely in 
taking her roll of paper from the desk, while an imaginary voice proclaimed, 
"Eleanor Throckmorton Stuart," ,she rose, went over to the well-worn 
piano, and played " Fair Harvard " five times, — once as prelude, and once for 
each of the four stanzas. Miss Eleanor could not sins;. 

Then came the reception. It was truly an assembly of notables. A 


more splendid array of genius has never graced airy occasion, collegiate or 
otherwise. The makers of her father's library surrounded her. She meta- 
phorically greeted them all, as she passed slowly from shelf to shelf, and re- 
ceived their best thought in return. Ruskin and John Keats, Mill and 
Gibbon, Shakespeare and Carlyle, Emerson and Voltaire, Plato and Disraeli, 
Horace and Milton, each had a greeting and a message. They gathered 
about her until she felt the proper baccalaureate sense of unworthiness in 
comparison, and forgot that she was not as other new graduates are, young 
and inexperienced. 

It all came to an end at last, and Miss Stuart found herself standing in 
the middle of the old sitting room, her degree clasped close in her hands, her 
heart full of encouragement, and her mind of the words of the world's sages. 

" I am a foolish woman," she said, slipping the ribbon off the diploma, 
and letting the roll of paper fall from her hand to the desk. Then she went 
out into the dining room. 

"Lucretia," she called. " Lucretia," as the kitchen door opened, and 
the stout figure of her one aged, faithful servant appeared, " will 3 r ou please 
carry that diploma upstairs, and hang it over the mantelpiece in the north 
front chamber? I don't like to go up again in the cold." 

As Lucretia removed the framed diploma from the desk, where it had 
lain during the exercises, she glanced keenly at her mistress. If Lucretia 
could not read Latin, she could read red eyes ; but she made no remark, and 
at dinner Miss Stuart appeared as usual. 

Early in the afternoon, while she was busy among her flowers in the 
dining room, the minister and his sister were announced. Miss Eleanor had 
heard much of this sister from the enthusiastic clergyman, notably that she 
was a college graduate, and intensely loyal to college interests. Mr. Seelye 
had promised to bring her to call when she should visit East H ." 

"I showed 'em in th' sittin' room," added Lucretia, severely, "though 
it's all littered up 'ith books. Th' best room ain't fittin' this weather." 

To the sitting room Miss Eleanor therefore bent her steps. Through 
the half-open door she caught a glimpse of a lady, who was seated near the 
window. The elderly clergyman stood beside the desk, closely examining 
something which he held in his hands. Miss Eleanor's heart stood still. 
He was reading her diploma. 


"How do you do, Mr. Seelye?" she said, quickly regaining her com- 
posure, and advancing to meet him ; for if she was imaginative and senti- 
mental, she was also sensible. She looked every inch a lady as she came 
forward, her face grave and kindly \. her plain, black gown relieved onl} r by 
the whiteness of cuff and collar, and the gold gleam of brooch and watch 
chain ; her dignity fitly crowned by the dainty lace cap resting upon her 
gray hair. 

" Mrs. Seelye was unable to come," said the minister, as he greeted 
her, " so she sent us on alone. This is my sister, Mrs. Hamilton, of whom 
you have often heard me speak. Adelaide, allow me to present Miss Stuart, 

daughter of our Professor Stuart, and " But something (were Miss 

Eleanor's eyes still red ?) warned him to stop here. 

Miss Stuart turned to address a sweet-faced woman several years 
younger than the brother, and with much remaining beauty of the semi-dark 
type, who smiled graciously at her hostess, and said, — 

" I have heard my brother speak of you many times." 

Mr. Seelye had again taken up the diploma, which he had dropped 
when Miss Eleanor appeared. 

"Have you been graduating, Miss Stuart?" he asked, "and never told 

Eleanor Stuart flushed crimson. "That represents an old woman's 
whim," she said, after a moment's struggle for choice of words. "I never 
meant to tell any one. But if you knew how all my life I have wanted to 

go to college " And in a few concise sentences, which she flattered 

herself were placing her in a supremely ridiculous light, she told the story 
of her college course, and of her commencement, even winding up with the 
reception. Her eyes shone as she talked. If she had done an odd, imag- 
inative thing, it was not because she was a foolish, innocent old woman, 
destitute of knowledge of the world and of a sense of humor. She had 
acted with her eyes open, and in so acting had merely allowed scope to a 
certain idealistic side of her nature, while the rest of her, so to speak, had 
been an amused and idle spectator. 

As she finished her recital, Mrs. Hamilton came forward with shinino; 
eyes and smiling lips. 

"Thank you! Thank you!" she exclaimed, tenderly grasping her 


hostess's hands in both her own. " Do you know, that is the most beautiful 
thing I have heard in a long time, and the most poetic ! Think of one's 
wanting college so very much ! It fairly makes me cry." Then recovering 
herself, and speaking brightly, although her eyes still glistened, she went 
on : " We must have you in our society, the College Graduates' Association, 
you know. Every alumna should join." 

" You are most kind," said Miss Stuart, greatly moved ; " but I am not 
a bona fide graduate " 

"Ah! but I am president of the association," Mrs. Hamilton eagerly 
interrupted, "and I will make you a sort of honorary member, so that you 
may receive all our publications, and attend all our meetings. There will 
be no trouble, I assure you. But we shall have ample opportunity to discuss 
all this while I am here, for — O "Walter ! I beg your pardon for so taking 
Miss Stuart's time." 

Half an hour later, in spite of the cold, Miss Eleanor was carefully 
hanging her diploma in that room upstairs. Her eyes were not in the least 
red, and she was smiling. 

"I shall not advertise my foolishness,'.' she soliloquized, with gentle 
humor, " by placing this where it can be seen by everyone who comes 
here ; but, as I am a member of the College Graduates' Association, 
I must have my degree to show for it, of course. And Lucretia doesn't 
read Latin." 

Blanche Louise Clay, '92. 


Young Chase had just left the office of the mine, and was driving back 
to town as fast as his horse could carry him. The payment of the men was 
just finished. That meant the end of the week's work for Chase, and he 
gave a comfortable little sigh of anticipation as he pulled the collar of his 
coat up higher, and changed the reins from one cold hand to the other. As 
he turned a corner his horse shied. "No foolishness, Bob," said Chase; 
" it's too cold for that. I want to get home to my pipe and my fire." 

But Bob stopped short, and Chase, being on very good terms with his 
animal, concluded that there was method in Bob's madness. The cause of 


the delay was not long in making itself known. Standing in the middle of 
the road was a small boy frantically waving a fragment of a hat, and pant- 
ing : "Mr. Chase ! Mr. Chase !" 

Chase opened his calm gray eyes widely as he looked at him. Even his 
long and varied experience with breaker boys had not quite prepared him for 
this. The boy was smaller, and dirtier, and more ragged and pinched-look- 
ing than any of the boys whom Chase had just seen getting their "pay." 
He felt sure that the child could not be twelve years old. 

While this was passing through Chase's mind the boy moved toward 
him. His walk could hardly have been called graceful ; hut then, as Chase 
would have told you, you could not expect anyone to walk gracefully over 
that rough, frozen road. Chase, however, was somewhat amused when he 
noticed the gingerly way in which the boy put his feet down, until he saw 
that his shoes were so old and worn that they were held on at every step 
only by the strings tied around his tiny legs. 

" Hullo, sir," said Chase ; " do you want me?" " Please, sir," said the 
boy, still breathing heavily, but smiling bravely up at Chase, " sure, I wint 
to th'affice too late fur me pay, an' I want it awful. So I runned over here 
to ax you if you couldn't git it fur me." The smile, notwithstanding a de- 
cided effort on the boy's part, had faded. 

Now Chase knew just exactly what to do when an employee of the com- 
pany came late for his pay. He knew that he had no right to give out the 
company's money except from the office at the regular time. He knew all 
this, but somehow, at the same time, he couldn't help knowing that the boy 
was little and thin, and that his lips, the only part of his face free from coal- 
dirt, were very pale. 

So he began, in an apologetic sort of way, — 

" Well, you see, now, I'm soriy, Patsy, but " 

" Terry," interrupted the boy. " Terry McGovern." 

" Well, ' Terry,' then, it's not my fault, you know, but really I can't do 
it. You see the company hires me just as it, does you. They tell me what 
to do, and I lose my place, just the same as you do, if I don't obey. You'll 
have to wait until next pay day, I'm afraid." 

The boy looked at him in silence for a moment. A big tear rolled un- 
heeded down his cheek. 


" Well, thin," he said slowly, " I s'pose if I can't git it, I can't. But I 
did want it terrible fur something. I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Chase, all 
the same." He turned away. 

" Wait a minute, Terry," said Chase, impetuously. "Let's see what 
we can do about this." 

Terry smiled his wan little smile, and shifted his weight to one foot. 
The smile faded even sooner than before ; with a slight shiver he changed 
back to both feet, then shivered again. Chase, however, did not notice it, 
for he had taken out his pocketbook and was opening it. 

" I tell you what I'll do," he said. " I'll lend you the money till next 
pay day, and then you can pay me. How much were you to have this 
month ? " 

" Seven dollars," said Terry, promptly. " I've been workin' every 
blessed day." 

"All right, sir; here it is," said Chase, holding it out, and wondering 
inwardly just how honest the boy would prove " next pay day." 

" 'Deed, Mr. Chase, you're jist too good for " 

The rest of the sentence was lost, for down went the boy on the ground 
in a miserable little heap. 

Chase looked at him for a second, until he realized what had happened. 
Then he jumped out and picked the unconscious child up in his arms. 

" Jove," he said, looking anxiously at him, " this is interesting. Here's 
this child fainted, for some reason or other; starved, may be. What to do 
with him is more than I know, and there's no one in sight ; nothing here but 
those everlasting culm piles." 

Just then the boy opened his eyes. " What's the matter?" he asked. 

" O," said Chase, assuming a cheerfulness which he was far from feel- 
ing, " you fell, that's all, and now I'm going to take you home, if you'll tell 
me where you live." But the child had lost all his self-control, and was sob- 
bing bitterly. " Me feet ! me feet ! " he whispered between his sobs. 

Then it all came out. In order to overtake Chase, Terry had taken the 
shortest cut from the office to the point where they had met. To do this he 
had been obliged to descend the side of a culm pile. He had forgotten, in 
his haste, that this one was on fire. There was nothing in the appearance of 
the pile to warn him of the fact, for during the day, burning culm and the 


ashes of culm which is long since burnt out look just the same. The soles 
of the boy's shoes were charred and crisped ; his feet were blackened and 

It would, perhaps, have surprised his friends if they could have seen 
the immaculate Mr. Chase with a breaker boy in his arms. It would, per- 
haps, have surprised them still more if they could have seen him and heard 
him as he drove the boy to the hospital. I am not sure that Chase was not 
a bit relieved that he met none of them on the way. He certainly was glad 
that they were not there when, after waiting more than an hour, he was 
taken into the children's ward, and Terry called him his good Mr. Chase, 
and — yes, and when he gave Terry just the suspicion of a kiss on his fore- 
head. It was poor form, of course, but there were screens around the bed, 
and the nurse had gone away for a moment. 

That was not the last time that Chase went to the children's ward. He 
heard all about Terry's mother, who did washing, and about " our Elbe," 
who had had " somethin' the matter with her hip" ever since she was a 
baby. He even made the acquaintance of Mrs. McGovern and Elbe, when 
he called at their home in " Duck Pond," to give them Terry's pay. Not all 
of Terry's pay, however, for Terry said he wanted to keep two dollars " fur 

At last the time came when Terry's burns were healed, and he was free 
to go home. Still he had not spent his two dollars for this long-desired 
" somethin'." Accordingry, the afternoon he left the hospital, he and his 
friend Mr. Chase went down town straight to the biggest toy shop there 
was to be found. Then, after a great deal of anxious thought and deliber- 
ation, they bought a doll, a marvelous creature, with very yellow hair, very 
blue eyes, and very pink cheeks ; whether all these glories could be gained 
by two dollars not being related. " My ! " said Terry, gazing admir- 
ingly at it, "ain't it lovely, and won't our Elbe be pleased? That's just 
the kind she's been wantin' fur ever so long." 

When the purchase was complete, and the doll sufficiently disguised in 
wrappings to suit Terry, Mr. Chase drove him to Duck Pond, and left him at 
his own door. 

The next day being Sunday, Mr. Chase's mind -was intent on other mat- 
ters than corporations and their employees. Rather, only one employee was 


engaging his attention. Affairs had not run smoothly of late ; everything 
was at sixes and sevens. To-day he was going to take time to think over 
matters, and see what was best to be done. It was not pleasant thinking, 
and he was not sorry when he was interrupted. A visitor was announced. 
Following the announcement came the visitor, a small boy with a hastily done 
up bundle. It was Terry, smiling about as happily as he had when Chase had 
told him he could not have his " pay." That person, politely overlooking the 
child's evident discomfiture, made the remarks which usually go toward break- 
ing the ice. This was all very well, and it was Mr. Chase who was talking, 
but it was not what Terry had come for. With a palpable effort for ease 
and calmness he began: "You see, Mr. Chase, I brought the — well, our 
Ellie, she ain't strong, and men don't know what girls like anyhow, I guess, so 
I thought — so I brought it back. I thought perhaps you could put it away 
somewhere — I haven't any place myself, of course — and — and let it go." 

He looked up from his fumbling of the strings of the bundle at the last 
words. But he looked quickly down again. One's eyes do not overflow so 
easily when one looks down. A man does not look down for that reason, of 
course, but that knot needed attention. 

Chase hesitated a moment. Should he " let it go," or try to mend mat- 
ters? On the whole, he would not let it go. "I don't quite understand," 
he said, trying to find out the trouble without hurting the boy further, and 
offering him a loophole. " Isn't — ah — your sister strong enough to have 
the doll?" 

"It ain't just that," said Terry, moving toward the door. "Mamie 
Doonan, she got a doll the other day, and it has dark hair, and browny 
eyes. Ellie says she won't have one unless it's like that, and 
she won't take another instead of this because she says I ought to 
have known." He was turning the knob back and forth now. " So I thought 
if you'd put it away, we'd let it go, and that would be the end." "Yes, 
Terry," said Chase, gravely, " I'll put it away, and that will be the end." 

" Good-by, Mr. Chase," said the boy, from the threshhold. " I guess 
it's nobody's fault ; I don't believe girls know very well what they want 
themselves, do you?" 

" No," said Chase gravely ; "I don't believe they do." 

M. E. S. 



Fair saint, with rapt and downward bending gaze, 

I drink the beauty of thy lovely face 

As one who quaffs, from chalice rare and fine, 

A measure of the vintages of years. 

The hair droops lovingly in a caress 

Adown the brow divine and flower-like cheek: 

The round and finish of the neck and chin 

Are wrought in lines of purity and grace; 

And tenderness dwells in the eyes that hold 

All calmness, mystic vision, soul intense. 

C. B. M. 


People passed in and out of the great door of the Exchange, each time 
letting in a gust of wind that drew up through the long corridors. It was 
not the wind, however, that slammed the door of the architect's office so that 
the usually quiet fourth-floor corridor resounded, and the busy people in the 
offices and studio looked up, for a moment, in surprise. The disturber of 
the peace must have been Don, the architect's younger brother, for no one 
who knew the shy, scholastic-looking architect would have suspected him of 
such a demonstration. And something must have gone radically" wrong with 
Don, for no one could remember his ever passing the studio before without 
dropping in for a minute to see that "Miss Margaret" was having no trou- 
ble with the new and refractory radiators. In fact, the boy had earned, by 
his daily visits, the title of " studio inspector," and the students rather looked 
forward to his afternoon calls. 

Nothing more was heard from the architect's office, however, until 
everyone but Margaret had gone. Then a woe-begone, boyish face appeared 
at the door. 

"What sort of scrape is it now, Don?" asked Margaret. 

"It's all that old chump Gray!" began Don, vehemently, "But, 
then, I did forget to tell Rob about the changes he wanted in some of the 
stock-yards drawings. And it'll take the old fellow three hours anyway to 
change 'em. Gray's got to have 'em to-morrow — and Rob's all stove up, and 
gone home ; he hurried to , finish 'em, so I could take 'em right up from 
school. And I don't see what's to be done ! " 


Margaret saw :i very simple way out of the difficulty, but the trouble 
was that Don was all but incapable of keeping a secret, and it would be 
rather awkward if "Brother Rob" should rind it out. However, Don's 
despair was so pathetic that she decided to take the chances. 

" Donald," she began impressively, " if you'll never tell a soul as long 
as you live, I'll fix up those drawings or make some new ones." 

Don's eyes widened. "What a head you've got!" he exclaimed. 
"Rob said your talent was — O, I forgot; he mightn't want me to tell you. 
But I didn't know you could do this sort of thing." 

" We'll see," said Margaret. " Come, it's only five, and we can have 
until eight ; that ought to be enough." 

It was of no use to protest. A table was cleared for the large sheets of 
paper; Don brought in everything that was needed from the office, and, 
for the next three hours Margaret worked away in her best style, while Don 
looked on in admiring wonder. 

They chatted about school, and Christmas, and architecture, — Don's pet 
subject, — while the drawings made rapid progress. By and by Don went down 
to get one of the keys of the street door from the janitor. He was gone a 
long time, and Margaret began to feel a trifle uncomfortable, with the snow 
banking up on the skylight over her head, and the wind rattling the win- 
dow's, and whistling about the eaves. When Don came in, however, he was 
covered with snow and laden with parcels which explained his absence. 

" I thought 'twould be a good scheme," he explained, " to telephone 
up to the Thornton, so your aunt shouldn't worry. And then," he added, as 
he spread out his packages on a little table, "I didn't want you to starve, 
Miss Margaret." 

With the ease of experience he opened the olive bottle with " Brother 
Bob's" pet compasses, and found a long, slim brush, with the handle whit- 
tled to a point, which had doubtless served before as an olive fork ; a brand 
new palette, christened for the occasion, made a good bread tray. Some 
potted ham, a glass jar of milk, and the best oranges that " Leo Dago's" 
stall afforded, completed the repast. 

The stock-yards drawings, however, could not be long neglected, even 
for this Bohemian repast. Before long the janitor's omnivorous cat was 
called in to finish up things, and the drawing was resumed. By eight 


o'clock it was done, and Don announced, after due deliberation, that Rob 
himself could not have done it so quickly ; and this was the greatest com- 
pliment that this loyal little brother could give. 

"When the drawings were rolled up and stored carefully in the studio, 
where Don could get them before school next morning, then came the dark, 
eerie journey down the long flights of stairs to the street door, and the cold 
trip home through the white, snowy night. And that ought to have been 
the end of it. 

The Saturday after the league of secrecy was formed, when the archi- 
tect and his brother were lunching at the Delicatessen, at a table for three, 
Don was greatly perturbed to see the " chump Gray," a portly, pompous old 
gentleman, come in quite oblivious to Don's inhospitable and worried coun- 
tenance. Mr. Gray accepted the vacant seat offered him by the architect. 
Don tried to steer the conversation, and succeeded reasonably well, for his 
brother was not a great talker, and Mr. Gray was more silent than usual ; 
in fact, he seemed a little embarrassed. And there were so many safe topics 
of conversation ; the shortcomings of the Major, the approaching Christmas 
festivities, the late cold wave, and snowfall. But, alas! this reminded Mr. 
Gray that the cold weather had stopped all work on the new stock-yard 
buildings. And by the by, those drawings. — Don remembered an errand 
uptown, and excused himself suddenly, not to say precipitately. 

After the surprise of the strange disclosure had worn off, the quiet, 
scholarly young architect gradually came to divide the honors with Don, as 
"studio inspector." Not that he came at busy times, however, or en- 
croached upon his brother's field of usefulness in the transom and radiator 
line ; for he came usually in the afternoon, when most of the students had 
gone, and Margaret had time to inspect some striking facade in his Archi- 
tectural Journal, that he thought she would appreciate. Or perhaps it would 
be a beautiful entrance, that he had been designing for some West End 
boulevard. Not that he ever had contracts for such things, but it was always 
interesting to see how much better he could do than the men who did get 


All this was last winter ; but now, since the long spring days have come, 
our friends are studying architecture in a different, perhaps more practical 
way. Every evening they walk up from the studio; and Don — who has 
given up the walks, because he found them stupid — says that they do nothing 
but "poke fun at other people's houses." 

Whether the conversation of our scholarly }-oung friends ever does drift 
out of architectural channels altogether, — that is a question over which Don 
reasons and puzzles in vain. 

Julia D. Randall, '97. 


Oxe day we two went down to the pier. It was in March, and, as our 
families thought, a trifle early for the seashore. We pushed along, ankle 
deep in sand, battling against a perfect gale, trying to reach some rocks be- 
yond. "There must be a way ; I'm sure there is!" she panted, tired and 
breathless. Then we fought on, past the bather's beach, past the pebbly 
beach, down as for as the dunes. And yet those rocks enticed us, near, un- 
reachable. We sank down finally, completely worn out, just where we were, 
in the hot, blowing, stinging sand, to rest. It was on the last of the mounds, 
and there — between us and our goal — flow T ed, calm and impassable, the 

" Don't you feel just like ' Dreams ?' " I said. "Here are the dunes ; be- 
yond them, for all we know, the desert; above us, a gray, dull sl<y and an 
unattainable, mist-crowned something just out of reach. What shall we call 
it, happiness, success, or what?" 

"Do you know, — it may sound trite," she answered, slowly, "but to me, 
that is rest. There's nothing I so long for in this world, or so hope for in 
the world to come, as rest. I'm so tired, — so tired of sorrow, so tired of self- 
absorption, so tired of struggle, so tired of narrowness, so tired of wrong, so 
tired of pain, so tired of trying to help and of ever feeling one's efforts futile, 
one's self helpless. I want rest for it all, immovable, deep-founded, availing, 
loving, Divine rest. That's my rock, my unattainable." I should have 
thought all this trite from some one else, but I know her so well. 

M. O. Maloxe. 



Few sing of thee, November; dost thou feel 

A pang of envy that thy comrades fair 

Or cherished more, should leave thee scant of praise? 

Thou gray ascetic of the twelve, a lesson rare 

Thou bringest to the heavy-laden heart. 

Thou art the priest to shrive the dying year 

Ere yet the shroud of white December wraps 

His stilled form in an everlasting peace. 

October flaunts her glory in thy face: 

Mine is the wealth of vineyard, orchard, field; 

Mine is the splendid forest pageantry, 

Where monarchs don the crimson and the gold." 

But thou, November, shalt not be thus mocked; 

Thou hidest 'neath thy gray and brooding skies 

A sun that gleams the brighter for its loss, 

And none of all thy fellows bids us more 

To grave upon our lives the word "Endure." C. B. M. 


" I wonder," said Miss Letitia, " how it would seem if it were going 
to last all our lives, — the arrangement, I mean." 

The youth at her feet turned and looked at her admiringly. Miss Gain- 
way smiled down on him. 

" Charming," he said, promptly. "Charming, of course. How could 
it be anything else? Don't you think so yourself? " 

Miss Letitia loosened a bit of lichen from the rock behind her, and 
tossed it over the cliff before she answered. She gazed meditatively out to 
sea, without once looking at him. Mr. Sales, for his part, waited cheer- 
fully, smiling and content. 

"I — am — not sure," she said, slowly. "Just for the summer it is 
well enouo'h. One doesn't mind beinu - ensaaed for the summer, because 
it doesn't bind one to anything at all, really. And besides, — one isn't in 


" I think one is," interpolated Mr. Sales. Miss Letitia took no notice 
of the comment. 

" But if it weren't very limited, — and provisional, — I'm afraid we 
shouldn't 2;et on at all. I do not like things that are settled. I besrin to 
be cross as soon as I have decided anything, and can't change my mind. It 
is nonsensical, isn't it? But, do you know, I really believe that I should 
quarrel with you dreadfully, and hate you, if we hadn't made it provisional. 
I really believe it." 

Mr. Sales laughed. " I don't know whether that is flattering or 
not," said he. " But I haven't made you cross yet, have I? That's some- 
thing. I try not to, but I'm awfully stupid, so that I dare say I shall bother 
you pretty soon." 

"You've done fairly well, so far," returned Miss Letitia, with admirable 
gravity. "Naturally; the rules of the game aren't worked out perfectly, 
and you don't always know what I want you to do, and what I mean; but, 
on the whole, you are as clever as one can expect a man to be." 

"Thanks," answered the lover, with a nod of respectful sympathy. 
" It's very good of you to say so. I'm not half clever enough for you, and 
I know it, and everybody would say so if we told 'em about the engagement. 
Really, I'm not. "Wish I were ! " 

" Don't say ' Thanks,' snapped Miss Letitia. " I dislike it. You don't 
mind my correcting you, do you, in little things like that? I should be 
really in earnest about it if we were going to stay engaged to one another ; 
and it is only consistent to pretend to be very serious now." 

" Not in the least," he responded. " It's a question of taste ; I under- 
stand. And, any way, it's my business to — to try to suit you, Avhether I 
like it or not. Isn't that so? I'm not worth much, you know; I'm not 
worth even this provisional business." 

Miss Gainway looked narrowly a>t him, but the youth met her glance 
with such a countenance of honest, imperturbable cheerfulness that she was 
fain to give his words their literal worth. 

"You ought to make yourself worth it, then," she asserted, briskly. 
" You must improve, and I'll help you live up to me. I'll tell you when 
you make any mistakes, and I'll explain what you ought to have done ; and 
in that way you can learn. You are a satisfactory person to be engaged 


to, on the whole, and a good man}' of the other things you can be taught. 
Sit up and pay attention, and I'll tell you some of the first things you need 
to know." 

Mr. Sales sat rigidly upright. 

"You have been quite respectably intelligent about a number of things 
without being told," began Miss Letitia, judicially. "You haven't been 
jealous, or crusty, and you haven't presumed at all, and I think it's very 
nice of you. It shows that you really are more clever than you seem. 
You have commendable instincts." 

"Thanks — thank you!" gasped Mr. Sales, his military stiffness break- 
ing suddenly, his honest, boyish face flushing slightly under its tan. 

"For instance," continued the betrothed, "you have a very proper 
humility when you talk to me. You always call me by my name, very 
formally, and all that. It's quite right ; I expect it, you know. There, 
stop laughing, and be sensible, and listen to me. There is ever so much 
that you do need to be told." 

Mr. Sales took an attitude of deep thought. "I think I am listening," 
he said, with consciously intense devotion, " but I don't know what you 
mean by sensible." 

Miss Letitia refused to be led away from the subject. "I'm going 
to begin by telling you that you wear your hair too short," she remarked, 
meditatively. " It would be a good deal better if you let it grow. Half 
an inch — no, an inch — would make you much better looking." 

This alarming directness of method Mr. Sales met with good-natured 
calm. Miss Letitia observed him for a moment, and continued: "You 
have good shoulders, and you're not a bad-looking man, on the whole, but 
you are getting into shockingly careless ways of walking. It comes of 
lounging about all summer, I suppose. You don't think enough about how 
you look, and you get demoralized. You must go and shut yourself up, 
some day, instead of going oif fishing, and rig yourself in the most correct 
things you have, you know, and stand before the mirror for an hour. You 
can study yourself that way. Will you?" 

"I don't know. I don't believe I shall," responded the pupil. "I 
should feel no end of an idiot, don't you see, and it would waste a lot of 
time. Besides, I can try to improve without doing that." 


"Yes, perhaps so," admitted Miss Gainway. " There was something 
else, too, — let me think. Oh, yes! I don't like your name. I don't like 
it at all. Henry is dry, and stiff, and didactic, and pompous. Harry is mis- 
cellaneous : 'Tom, Dick, and ', you know. Sales is abominable ; one 

can't help thinking how much you weigh. Haven't you any other?" 

Mr. Sales Hushed, and began to tie knots in the long leaf of sedo-e that 
he had been twisting about his fingers. 

" I have, but it's a worse one ; it's awful. They gave it to me because 
of my godfather, you know. I couldn't help it, but I keep it quiet." 

" What is it?" demanded Miss Gainway. 

The victim looked at her resentfully, then capitulated. " White," said 
he. "White. There, that's worse, isn't it? But, just the same, I'm 
rather fond of the Sales part myself. So was my father." 

"White Sales!" murmured the pitiless critic. "White Sales, — I 
should think so ! You couldn't possibly be called that. It sounds like a 
street ballad, or the name of a Sunday-supplement picture of a yacht race. 
It's so romantic that one doesn't think to wonder about your ounces and 
pounds. It must have annoyed you a good deal when you were little?" 

"Annoyed !" exclaimed Mr. Sales. "I should say so. I used to have 
to fight a boy every day before I went away to school." 

"White Sales!" repeated Miss Letitia, softly. Her glance ran him 
over, noting round head, cropped hair, flushed and troubled face, and 
clumsy, restless fingers. Her lips parted in a smile of mingled humor and 
malicious enjoyment. He did not attempt an answer. Miss Letitia sat in 
silence and gazed at the horizon line. Mr. Sales leaned upon his elbow and 
began, with his forefinger, to dig in the crevices of the rock. He looked 
once or twice somewhat resentfully, at his companion, but she seemed to 
have forgotten him. After a silence of some minutes, however, he spoke. 


"You are not to call me Letitia," responded Miss Gainway, with 
honeyed sweetness. "Yes?" 

"What's the use of this?" 

"I am telling you how you may live up to me and be worthy of me. 
You said that you wished to." 

"I mean, what's the use of any of it? What's the use of being pro- 


visionally engaged, and that? You wouldn't give two pins for me, and I 
know it. Why should you? I'm no good; and, besides, there's my name, 
you know. You only like me to make fun of. What's the use of the 
whole business? You won't like me any better, or half so well, even, when 
you've done with me. For my part I don't see what it's good for." 

Mr. Sales pulled savagely at a projecting corner of the rock ; 
he appeared to be both in earnest and unpleasantly ruffled. Letitia 
cocked her head to one side, and studied him for a moment before she 

"My dear friend," said she, "in my opinion it is worth a great 
deal. You say that you esteem me ; I reply that I should be glad to 
esteem you in like measure. We become provisionally engaged, and 
by way of getting to regard you with enthusiasm, I begin to remove 
your faults. It may not be pleasant for you, but you should bear it 
cheerfully, because you know that my intentions are of the best. You 
should remember that our aim is to make the affection mutual." She 
beamed with benevolence. 

" But you won't," he retorted, gloomily. " And what then?" 

"Then you will be cured. I promise it," returned Miss Letitia, with 
benignant enthusiasm. 

The suitor groaned. 

"I promise it," she repeated, briskly. "And now, what are you 
doing to do after luncheon ? " 

"I don't know," he answered. " I guess there isn't much to be done 
in this place. Is there anything besides my faults that you would like to 
have me attend to ? " 

" Don't be cross," warned Miss Letitia. " Your good temper is one of 
your very nicest points. No, I haven't anything to offer you in the way of 
amusement. I am going oft' on my wheel this afternoon, myself. I made 
up my mind to go alone, so that I can't ask you to come ; but I was going 
to suggest that, if you weren't too busy, you might get me some of those 
blue things that we saw over on the island the other day. The buds must 
be open by this time. It would be ever so nice of you." She smiled 

"I should be charmed, of course," Mr. Sales made answer. 


"You should say it more as if you meant it, you know," commented 
Miss Letitia, saucily. "Come; it is time to go hack now. People will 
want me." 

"All right. Yes, I mean it. 'Fraid I did get a little rusty, but I 
won't again. I'm sorry. Yes, we'd better go. Will you shake hands?" 

She put out her hand, and they went through the ceremony gravely. 

"Ah, childhood, childhood!" murmured Miss Letitia, with a wicked 
upward glance. 


The day winch Miss Letitia had appointed for herself as a time of 
reckoning was at the end of the summer. By the time it came most of the 
summer throng were gone from Packetts, and an air of dullness and melan- 
choly had settled upon the little town. Mr. Sales still lounged about the 
corridors and piazzas, and brought in strings of fish which nobody wanted to 
eat ; but he, too, shared in the general gloom. Time hung heavily upon 
Letitia's hands. 

On the afternoon of her day of reckoning, Miss Gain way came out upon 
the empty veranda. She seated herself in a sheltered corner and began to 
read a two months' old magazine. Presently Mr. Sales appeared, whistling, 
and striving to seem at ease, notwithstanding his evident anxiety. Miss 
Letitia looked at her watch. 

"You are seven minutes late," said she, in greeting. 

He reddened. "Am I? I'm awf'ly sorry; I was detained. I beg 

Miss Letitia laid her book aside and folded her hands upon the chair 
arm. She leaned back and looked up at him in a way that made him un- 

"Well?" said she. 

Mr. Sales attempted to speak, hesitated, murmured something inarticu- 
late, and finally stopped short, crimson and wretched. 

"Evidently I shall have to begin," said Miss Letitia, coolly. "You 
do not know how to do this sort of thing neatly. Now listen, and admire 
my way. It's very simple, and it leaves nothing more to be said." 

Mr. Sales sank into a chair, and waited. 


" It's really easier for rne to do it, too, I suppose," she added. " Any- 
way, I will. I, Letitia Gainway, do hereby say that our temporary provi- 
sional engagement is over, because we are both tired of it, and the time is 
up. I pronounce you cured, too. There, isn't that all?" 

" Yes ; I suppose so," he answered. 

Miss Letitia looked for an instant at his rueful face and broke into a 
hearty laugh. 

"You goose!" said she. "You don't like to be cured. You don't 
want to, the least little bit. I suppose you would prefer to go on cherishing 
a grief to the end of your days, wouldn't you? If I were not a sensible 
person," she looked at him narrowly, "I don't know what would have hap- 
pened to you. I really don't." 

"I don't think it's just that," he protested, feebly; but Miss Letitia 
went on. 

"You are beautifully cured, if you only could be made to know it," 
said she. " You are a triumph of my skill. I am proud of you. And now 
that it's all over, I don't mind telling you that you haven't been my only 
cause of anxiety this summer. I was engaged, — provisionally, of course, — 
to another man. I've cured him, too." 

Mr. Sales stared at her. "I don't believe I quite get at your mean- 
ing," he said, stiffly. " I knew this sort of arrangement was a loose sort of 
thing, you know, but I didn't suppose one could " 

"Well, one can. I have showed that. One can, as well as not, if 
only one can spare the time, though it's a good deal of trouble some- 

Mr. Sales looked with severity upon her smiling self-gratulation. " Of 
course it doesn't matter now," he said, impressively; "but I rather wish 
you hadn't, you know." 

"I think it was ever so nice of me to take the trouble!" cried Miss 
Gainway, opening her eyes wide. "If I had simply sent you both away, 
you would both of you have been stiff, and horrid, and sore about it. Now 
you are both of you quite cured, not even gently sentimental ; and you 
blame me for trying to do my best." 

Mr. Sales still wore a preoccupied look. She made a last attempt. 

" You're not behaving at all nicely about it," said she. " Even after I 


have explained everything, you refuse to be pleasant. I think you had 
better go away now, and come back when you are more amiable." She 
took up her book. 

" I think, perhaps, — if you will excuse me," — murmured Mr. Sales, 
rising, "I am a bit cross, I'm afraid." 

Miss Letitia nodded sagely after his retreating figure. " I suppose so ; 
I might have known it," she sighed. " He will be all well by to-morrow, 
and he's a beautiful cure, but he had to be savage at first. My philanthropy 
didn't seem to appeal to him at all, either. Heigho ! And nobody ever will 
know how perfectly beautifully I've behaved ! " 


The sound of a voice floated in over my open transom as I toiled over 
James's theory of the emotions. 

" Yes," it said, " she was very fond of me. She happened to learn that 
forget-me-nots w T ere my favorite flowers, and every morning while I was in 
Dresden she put a bunch of them at my plate. And, do you know, the day 
I left she gave me a beautiful china cup and saucer covered with them." 
I sighed, and lost some phrases in the pained contemplation of the 
statement that " particular perceptions certainly do produce widespread 
bodily effects," etc. Then the voice broke in again upon the inter- 
esting fact. 

" The day before I left Berlin, Professor L — 'swife, such a charming 
woman, invited me to a tea at her house. No, it wasn't a tea, exactly; 
it was cakes and wine that we had. I didn't think I could go, but 
she was so disappointed that I decided to ; and when I happened to 
mention that I wanted a German beer-mug, she gave me the most 
beautiful silver one, with b-i-e-r, the German for beer, on it, circled 
with a wreath of flowers. . . ." 

I closed the transom with a banff. 


The bore charms me at times. At times I envy her ; I can hardly im- 
agine anything more gratifying than to be so thoroughly pleased with one's 
self. It hardly matters then how you appear to other people. Then, too, 


rhetorically, I admire her. Her discourse begins with herself, preserves the 
strictest unity throughout, and ends with herself. 

"Mass," wherein I strive with tears for small success, she excels in 
unconsciously. Happy bore ! 

"A certain temporary, yet still afflictive derangement of head," as 
Carlyle says, is what is the matter with you, my child. You are not alone in 
it, — don't think it. You are not original enough for that. You are merely 
passing through an unpleasant, but necessary, stage of your development. 
The world looks horribly out of joint to you, I suppose ? You doubt whether 
the game is worth the candle? All very tragic, but stop a moment. Did 
the world look particularly desirable to you when you had the measles, — 
that "temporary, youthful, yet still afflictive derangement" of body? 
You have spiritual measles, my dear; pardon the vulgarity of the 
comparison. There is nothing for you to do but wait, and take the 
harmless palliative measures which your friends suggest. Merely set your 
teeth and wait ; and above all, never dare to doubt that life is noble, 
and wholly worth while. 

The gleam from the electric light without cast a fretted square of white 
on the ceiling, and shed a queer pensive pallor through the room. The dis- 
mantled table, covered with the remains of the feast, stood ghostly in the 
corner. The blue alcohol blaze under the chafing dish was dying down, 
and a softened bubbling mingled with the sound of rain on the tiles. On the 
couch and on chairs lounged darkness-draped figures with white blots of 
faces. Meanwdiile the hushed voice went on, "And he heard the clanking 
of chains and felt the rush of cold air as the door opened." . . . 

W., '96. 


TIiey sat behind a Senior on the train. 

1st Freshman : " Isn't Wellesley a lot different from w r hat you thought 
it was going to be ? So different from preparatory school ! " 
2d Freshman : " Yes ; indeed it is." 
1st Freshman : " The whole atmosphere is so unsympathetic, isn't it?" 


2d Freshman : (with a sigh) " Yes." 

1st Freshman : " The teachers don't seem to care anything about you." 

2d Freshman: "No. There's Miss in . She calls on you 

so suddenly, and then doesn't give you a minute to think, but pounces upon 

somebody else. It's awful." 

1st Freshman : "And the upper class girls, — aren't they queer?" 

2d Freshman : " I should say so. They all have their little cliques, 

and they would no more open them and take in a Freshman than nothing at 


1st Freshman : " And the Seniors ! They're strangest of all. Aren't 

they old? Do you s'pose we'll be like that four years from now? There 

isn't a one that looks under twenty-five ! " 





No comment is needed upon the success and splendor of the Princeton 
sesquicentennial of last month. The newspapers have said enough of the 
enthusiastic audiences that crowded the new Alexander Hall to twice its 
ordinary seating capacity of nearly two thousand ; of the notable men of 
learning from all over Europe who made such an impressive gathering at 
the sesquicentennial celebration proper ; of the twenty-six college presidents 
who sat upon the platform at that time ; of the great alumni procession, 
reviewed by President and Mrs. Cleveland ; of Mr. Cleveland's splendid 
address. What the newspapers have not said has been said from time to 
time by people w T ho know to what degree the lack of money means the 
cramping of educational institutions. Was it, after all, worth while? The 
thought that has gone for two years to the planning, the months spent in 
Europe by some members of the faculty simply in giving invitations to 
distinguished guests, and the bill roughly estimated as between sixty and 
ninety thousand dollars, seem a great deal to devote to a celebration. 
Even though that celebration is a double one, of the hundred and fiftieth 
anniversary, and the change from college to university, the cost seems great. 
There is the other side, however, which is not to be ignored. As a nation 
we are accused of materialism, — of indifference to the things not connected 
with a prosperity that may be weighed, and measured, and counted. If 
Princeton, by spending two years of thought and ninety thousand dollars, 
can give a proof that this is not true, that we do care as much for the 
opening of a new university as for the opening of a new bridge, the time 
and money have not, perhaps, been wasted. 

" I wonder," wrote an ever- kindly subscriber the other day, " if the 
Magazine would care to find space for this noble vision of a college as 
expressed in Prof. Woodrow Wilson's oration at Princeton's late sesqui- 
centennial celebration?" She inclosed the clipping reprinted here. "I 
have had sight of the perfect place of learning in my thought ; a free 


place, and a various, where no man could be and not know with how great a 
destiny knowledge had come into the world — itself a little world; but not 
perplexed, living with a singleness of aim not known without ; the home of 
sagacious men, hard-headed, and with a will to know, debaters of the world's 
questions every da}' and used to the rough ways of democracy ; and yet a 
place removed — calm Science seated there, recluse, ascetic, like a nun, not 
knowing that the world passes, not caring it' the truth but come in answer to 
her prayer ; and Literature, walking within her open doors in quiet chambers 
with men of olden time, storied walls about her and calm voices infinitely 
sweet ; here ' magic casements opening on the foam of perilous seas in fairy 
lands forlorn,' to which you may withdraw and use your youth for pleasure ; 
there windows open straight upon the street where many stand and talk in- 
tent upon the world of men and business. A place where ideals are kept in 
heart in an air they can breathe, but no fools' paradise. A place where to 
hear the truth about the past and hold debate upon the affairs of the present, 
with knowledge and without passion ; like the world in having all men's life 
at heart, a place for men and all that concerns them ; but unlike the world 
in its self-possession, its thorough way of talk, its care to know more than 
the moment brings to light ; slow to take excitement, its air pure and whole- 
some with a breath of faith ; every eye within it bright in the clear day, and 
quick to look toward heaven for the confirmation of its hope." 

Henryk Sienkiewicz, one of whose character creations is compared 
with Shakespeare's Falstaff in the leading article of this issue, ranks, proba- 
bly, first among Polish novelists. Subtle and powerful in his analysis of 
character and of the Polish genius; many-sided and just in his portrayal of 
commonplace and complex social conditions ; keen to the satisfaction of 
twentieth century spirits in his criticism of literature, art, and society ; at 
home equally in Nero's Rome, in the United States, in Poland of the seven- 
teenth century and of to-day, — he is well worth knowing. Those who would 
study the Polish soul with the searchlight and microscope, must read 
" Without Dogma." For modern Poland, with her ugly social warts, we 
turn to " Children of the Soil" ; " Yanko the Musician, and Other Stories," 
show us the anarchist a'enerals of Poland, the German schoolmaster mis- 


sionaries, and other queer exotics in literature. Lillian Morris is an Amer- 
ican heroine, who lends her name to a story of American pioneering, gold 
mines, and Red Indians. The scene of last spring's novel, "Quo Vadis," is 
Rome in Nero's time, with all its blood, and flame, and darkness, and mar- 
tyrs. But more significant, perhaps, than any of these, is the great trilogy 
of 1890-93, which unroll the entire history, political, social, and intel- 
lectual, of Poland in the seventeenth century. "With Fire and Sword," 
" The Deluge," and "Pan Michael," form this series. They begin with the 
great Cossack struggle of the middle of the century ; describe the later invasion 
of Poland by Charles IX., of Sweden, the traitorous submission of the 
nobles, and the deluge of blood in which the country weltered ; and close 
with the tale of the Turkish inundation that followed the Swedes upon 
devoted Poland. Comment on the value of these novels to students of 
history is unnecessary. We can but regret that for books so well worth 
reading, from the literary, the social, and the historical points of view, we 
are able to suggest no shelves nearer than those of the library in Boston. 


To that glad host once privileged to dissect brains and see har- 
lequin disks in the Wellesley psychological laboratory, to that smaller 
host still in laboratory clover, so to speak, and to Psychology VII. to be, 
the notice of some of the Wellesley research work, in an article by Prof. 
Enrico Morselli, of Genoa, in La Vita Italiana for June, will be of interest. 
Professor Morselli's article is on "Fear of the Dark." After taking up the 
investigations of Professor Binet, of Paris, il Signor Morselli remarks that 
these investigations had been already preceded in America by certain 
research work done at Wellesley College, " under the direction of a most 
distinguished student of the branches psychological and pedagogical, la 
Signora Maria Whiton Calkins." At some length, then, he treats of the 
results of a work on the emotional life of children, by " la Signora Facken- 
thal, pupil della Calkins." He notes seven significant conclusions from the 
work "della Fackenthal." "Fear in American children is more frequent 
above than below the age of six. It is more frequent with girls than with boys 
after the sixth year, but vice versa before the sixth year. Visual experi- 
ences are oftener than auditory the cause of fear. Innate or hereditary fear 


is much less in amount than acquired fear. The objects that most com- 
monly excite fear are wild animals, and animals of prey. Imaginary 
objects produce fear as frequent and as intense as that caused by real things. 
Boys show a greater aptitude than girls for investing objects with horror." 
" These observations made at Wellesley College give us further insight than 
any "previous psychology of the emotions, into the phenomena of fear in chil- 
dren," says the professor; and he devotes two close pages to drawing from 
Miss Fackenthal's work, conclusions relative to fear of the dark. To those 
yet unconvinced of the usefulness of experimentation in Psychology VII., 
the reflection that such work is the A B C of that method by which the 
Signora Maria Whiton Calkins became "a most distinguished student," and 
Miss Fackenthal was able to " give us further insight than any previous 
psychology of the emotions," into certain phenomena, may be consolatory. 

We hope it is the briefness of the interval between the issues of 
October and November that accounts for the absence of Free Press articles 
from undergraduates in answer to the October inquiry about expense. 
Once more we are venturing to reprint the article, in case it should have 
escaped some eye which may see it this month. The two alumme letters of 
response in this number are both encouraging, the one from '94 very surpris- 
ingly so. There must be many girls " in touch with all sides of the Welles- 
ley life" who could not possibly get through on as little as " '94" says she 
spent. It would be interesting, and only fair, since we want the question 
answered from all sides, to hear from some of these girls, as well as from the 
" financiers " who make " $500 do for them what $700 or $800 do for many." 
To the two alumna? who wrote for this issue, we offer the thanks of editor 
and of inquirer. " Thanks beforehand" are extended to all other alumnae 
and all undergraduates who will write for the encouragement, or cold en- 
lightenment, or warning, of the questioner. 


To those who feel themselves " cut off" at college from " general inter- 
ests " and "out of life," we would recommend joining the College Settle- 
ment Association. The College Settlement is the nearest approach yet 


found to a bridge over the gap between the comfortable and the needy, the 
schooled and the unschooled. It bridges the gap, because its keynote is 
neither pitying, " bossing," nor " engineering," in even the most philan- 
thropic sense of those terms, but friendship, sympathy, personal intimacy. 
To believe that its attempts to "be friends" have been at least partially suc- 
cessful, one has only to visit Denison House and see the stream of children 
and callers that drop in from the neighborhood, or to talk to the labor- 
union men one meets there. The president of a Boston trades union said 
the other night, at the reception in the new Denison House annex : — 

"The College Settlement is a tremendous power for good. Every one 
of its movements counts, for it comes right down to the heart of the matter, 
and puts life on the right and natural basis. We labor men put every faith 
in Denison House." 

We can trust what that man says. The presence of two hundred 
friends from the neighborhood at that house-warming and the remarks of 
the trades union president, witness to the fact that Denison House makes 
friends of the wage-earners. That these friendships and the connection with 
the labor unions are " broadening " to the " residents," all residents agree. 
The)' go further ; they declare these friendships and the relations with the 
unions to be of " inestimable value." Let any girl who feels herself 
cramped at college, or only half awake, exercise her store of unused energy 
and ability among the friends of Denison House, in Denison House ways. 
We guarantee she will soon feel herself fully employed. 


In order to belong to the Association, however, it is not necessary to 
do active work in or for any Settlement. The only condition of member- 
ship is the payment of the annual fee of one dollar. We state this, because 
we heard a sophomore say the other day that, though she was very much 
interested in Settlements, she could not join the Association until she left 
College, because her father was unwilling for her to undertake outside work 
while she was studying hard, or to go into any such sociological scheme 
while she was so young. As a matter of fact, hardly any members of our 
undergraduate chapter do active work for Denison House. A few go in 
pretty regularly, and in the course of the year they are of much service. 


But the rank and file of us pay our dollar and receive our reports, are glad 
to hear anything we can about the Settlement, — and do no more. Yet our 
membership helps. Our dollars are needed, very seriously needed. And 
our sympathy is not valueless. Our presence at meetings, though we are 
but drones, is more encouraging to the active workers than the sight of our 
empty seats would be. That we cannot work is no reason for depriving 
oui'selves of the pleasures, or the Association of the help, of our member- 

Ix a fashion almost peculiar, interest in College Settlements seems an 
essential part of life at Wellesley. A member of our Faculty was one of 
those who first opened Denison House. Our share there has always been 
larger than that of any other college. Besides a bedroom in the old house, 
No. 93 Tyler Street, ours is the room of rooms in the new house, No. 91 — 
the beautiful " Wellesley Parlor " on the first fioor. Contributions for the 
purpose from the Wellesley graduate and undei"graduate chapters were what 
chiefly furnished it. We are regarded as "special friends," the head-worker 
says, not only by the residents at the House, but by the whole neighborhood 
as well. To the general association of College Settlements, which includes 
all the Settlements in the country, and into whose treasury all our an- 
nual fees go, we contributed last year more than any other institution. We 
have had always so lively an interest in this work, that now if one can be- 
long, membership in the College Settlement chapter seems almost necessary 
to full membership in the College. 

Editor's Note. — An entertaining account of the pageant given at Denison House, No. 
91, to celebrate its opening, November 2, is given near the end of the Alumna; Notes, under the 
heading " Denison House News." 



The departments of Philosophy and of English Literature gratefully 
acknowledge, through the pages of the Magazine, the gift from the Board of 
Editors of 1895 and 96. This generosity makes it possible not only to add to 
the library indispensable new books, but to lessen the difficulties of students by 


providing duplicate copies of books in constant use. It is a peculiar pleasure 
to administer a gift which contributes to the permanent equipment of the 
College. , Suqh a bequest is perhaps the truest service which those who go 
can render to those who come after. 


A fresh discussion of the general "spirit of undergraduate criticism" 
need hardly be entered into here. Naturally an undergraduate has opinions — 
usually pronounced — on most subjects; and this for an excellent reason, if 
we accept the theorem that " suspension of judgment is an eminently scholarly 
condition of mind." And if a student has opinions, we can usually count on 
hearing them freely expressed. Of course such discussion, even when it takes 
the form of adverse criticism, is desirable in so far as it shows the student's 
well-founded disapproval of some college usage or institution. Many of our 
improvements here have doubtless been partly due to sincere and reasonable 
" undergraduate criticism." In some special cases, however, this critical 
spirit degenerates into mere faultfinding, arising from misunderstanding or 
thoughtlessness. A irreat deal mijdit be said for the ministers and lecturers 
whom we systematically pick to pieces ; but there is a case nearer home 
which should be looked into. Unreasoning criticism certainly becomes 
especially hurtful when it attacks an organization of our fellow-students such 
as our college chorus, — an organization which exists almost solely for the 
sake of the College, and of whose work we need not be ashamed, since it is 
highly commended by outsiders who know about choral music. Moreover, 
the head of our music department, in freely giving his time to organizing and 
drilling this chorus, does for the College and for us all a work which we 
scarcely appreciate, — a work which, in some other colleges, the head of the 
music department never thinks of doing. We forget that a musical director 
usually expects some slight remuneration for his work, and that Professor 
Hill, like his chorus, always gives his services. In fact, if the Beethoven 
should charge for its concerts an admission fee sufficient, for instance, to cover 
the expenses of its soloists from outside, — whom Professor Hill now engages, 
and the chorus pays, — matters might be put on a better footing. Probably, 
in this particular case, criticism arisesfrom a misunderstanding of the aims of 
the chorus. It is perfectly well known that the Beethoven, like any other 


chorus, does not require cultivated voices, and cannot, therefore, give us the 
same style of music that we may expect from the Glee Club. The large city 
choral societies do not demand from their members the vocal training necessary 
in a small organization where every voice is prominent. Yet we thoroughly 
enjoy the singing of these societies because — if our judgment is worth anything 
at all — we expect from this sort of music entirely different qualities from those 
we enjoy in songs adapted to a few cultivated voices. In other words, we 
judge the chorus music that we hear elsewhere, in oratorio, for instance, 
by its own standards. » Our own college chorus, too, ought to be judged by 
its own standards, and not be held to ideals which no chorus ever set for itself. 


" Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good 
works." To be sure ; but by this it was never intended that we should 
leave our lights turned on while we were out of the room. The power 
of our electric plant is limited. It is sustained by the hope that at no one 
time will it be called on to run all the incandescents in College. An in- 
candescent burning needlessly often makes the lights poorer in rooms where 
light is needed, and always costs Alma Mater a few cents that might just 
as well have been spared her. Our electrical engineer says that every time 
a girl puts out her light when she doesn't need it, even if it is only for 
ten minutes, she saves some expense to the College. It is little trouble 
turning the button of the incandescent to a horizontal position when we 
leave the room. To save the eyesight of our fellow-students, and to free 
Alma Mater from financial embarrassment, shall we not do it? 



The question has recently been asked me, "Can a girl go through 
Wellesley comfortably on five hundred dollars a year?" 

Students who are anxious to enter are debating whether they can afford 
to try it with only this amount to depend upon. The young girl who asks 
this question will have her clothes and traveling expenses outside this sum, 
but wishes to make five hundred dollars cover her board, tuition, books, 
stationery, heavy laundry, class dues and pin, missionary and other sub- 


scriptions. She wants to be able to enter into the general life of the College, 
and not to feel shut out from the good times. 

When we hear that the class boat costs into the hundreds of dollars, cap 
and gown more than ten dollars, class dues and social spreads and entertain- 
ments in proportion, it makes the girl who has to count not only her dollars, 
but her pennies, wonder if Wellesley is the place for her. 

There must be many students who can answer this question of expense. 

It will be a help to many would-be Wellesley girls of the best kind if it 
can be frankly and fully discussed in the columns of the Magazine. 

C. H. C, '84. 


Esteeming one of the richest gifts in my life the four years spent at 
our "College Beautiful," and eager to have every girl with equal longings 
enjoy an equal opportunity, I am much interested in the opening of the 
discussion on expenses of the present Wellesley life. 

I entered in the autumn of 1888, thus having the advantage of the $300 
a year charges. I received $100 a year for four years from the Students' Aid 
Society, and lived as economically as possible. In toto, my expenses (inclu- 
sive of traveling expenses twice a year to and from my New Jersey home) 
were as follows : — 

1S88-18S9 $364.65, freshman. 

1889-1890 406.39, sophomore. 

1890-1891 3S3.04, junior. 

1891-1892 393.81, senior (at the Eliot, and taking music). 

I did not belong to a secret society, nor indulge in a class pin, and 

studied every detail of expenditure closely, doing much of my own laundry 

work. Still, there was no painful sacritice, and, unless other items have 

multiplied, even with the charge of $400 per annum, a girl can surely make 

$500 cover every essential if she is ordinarily well. With increasing love 

for Alma Mater, 



The inquiry of the girl who wishes five hundred dollars to cover a year's 
expenses at Wellesley is of great interest to me, and I want to do my share 


in helping to answer her question. If the amount given need not include 
clothing and traveling expenses, nor board for any vacation time spent at the 
College, my own experience tells me that a girl may enter freely into all the 
pleasantest features of the Wellesley life, and still not spend more than one 
hundred dollars beyond her board and tuition. When I was in College we 
had a new class boat, we helped build the boathouse, we subscribed to the 
Concert Fund, College Settlement, and Missionary Fund. We had numerous 
class and often rather heavy society dues, we belonged to the Christian 
Association, we celebrated birthdays, we gave little parties in the gymnasium, 
and we dressed for Tree Day. We went to the Glee Club concerts, we 
bought the "Legendas," and went into Boston occasionally. We had 
Chemistry and Zoology laboratory fees ; we rented some books, but bought 
all our Greek, Mathematics, and English Literature books ; we subscribed to 
the Magazine : indeed, we did most of those things which make a girl feel she 
is in touch with all sides of the Wellesley life, and my expenses, excepting 
my senior year, fell within the live hundred dollar limit. That included 
traveling expenses of at least fifty dollars, but this would, of course, just cancel 
the additional fifty dollars in the tuition. There were some expenses I was 
saved. I rented a gymnasium suit and bought my college and society pins 
with Christmas and birthday money. The senior year, with its cap and 
gown, its photograph expenses, diploma fee, and subscriptions for whatever 
object the class decides to leave behind as a gift for future years, almost 
necessarily demands an extra fifty dollars. 

I find as I look over my accounts that gloves and shoes, hairpins, and the 
like are often included. There are numerous barge fares, and fees for the 
woman who swept our room. The book, stamp, and stationery list is the 
longest, and I find I indulged occasionally in candy, and oftener in flowers. 
I have scarcely any breakage bills, and always tried to be economical about 
my laundry, some years washing my handkerchiefs myself. The girl who 
wants to make five hundred dollars do for her what seven hundred or eight 
hundred dollars do for many, needs to observe these rules : (1) Pay as you 
go, and keep very little money in the purse you carry about with you. (2) 
Never forget that you can't afford what many girls can, and don't hesitate to 
say so. (3) Make up your mind to enjoy life, even if you must economize. 

I know that one of my friends and I spent far less money than the other 


girls whom we knew best, and perhaps the only reason was that we knew we 
were limited to a certain sum, and took pleasure in seeing how much we could 
do with it. One soon learns to be something of a financier. If I had it to 
do over again I should ask for ten dollars each month regularly, and keep 
about one dollar at a time in the purse I used every day, and I know I should 
come out square. And here's to the health of the girl who can do it, and 
here's to the health of many a girl who does it for less ! 



Will o' the Wasp, by Robert Carneron Rogers. G. P. Putnam's Sons, 
New York and London, 1896. 

" Will o' the Wasp" is, as its title page sets forth, " A Sea Yarn of 
the War of '12." It purports to be the story of one of the crew of the 
famous Yankee privateer "Wasp," as written down by himself. "Wasp 
Willy," as the narrator is called in his old age, is the sole survivor of the 
" Wasp's " last fight, and he tells of the long cruise of the brave little cor- 
vette, of her captures and prizes, and finally of her end. It is a fresh, 
Avholesome, breezy story, with a keen flavor of salt water about it. It is 
told in the first person, and the sturdy, vigorous, upright manliness of the 
speaker himself adds not a little to the eflectivness of his appeal to one's 
patriotism and love of gallant adventure. The love story which runs 
through this tale of ships and sea fights is skillfully handled. Altogether, 
" Will o' the Wasp" is an attractive book, with a certain hearty, vigorous, 
wholesome enthusiasm about it that one is glad to find. 

A Venetian June, by Anna Fuller. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 

" A Venetian June " is a story without a plot. A number of characters, 
— American, of course — assemble in Venice, meet and talk cheerful com- 
monplaces to one another, ride in one another's gondolas, try, incidentally, 
to benefit their gondoliers, become enthusiastic over the " Spirit of Venice," 
speak familiarly of "The Saint and Lion," "The Salute," " The Rialto 
Bridge," and go through with, in a word, all the performances which are ex- 
pected of a certain sort of American tourists. The history of their doings 
and sayings is deadly dull. Its monotony is not relieved in the least by the 


endless succession of festas, which, for the convenience of the visitors, are 
crowded into one June, although the occasional marvel of a passage like the 
following may stir the reader's imagination. 

" Scarlet, pink, blue, sulphur, — how these unrelated bits of color were 
blended and absorbed in the pure poetry of the picture ! " Or a bit like 
this: "A deep, thrilling emotion lifted her on its crest, as the long, slow, 
elemental rhythm of the ocean had lifted the frail shell of the gondola far out 
at the Porto del Lido, such a lifetime ago. But now she did not shrink 
from it, she was not disconcerted by it. She only sang on with growing 
passion and power." 

For minds which can take no pleasure in such bits of description, and 
find them but poor material of which to make a story " A Venetian 
June" offers as a substitute for a plot, a situation. We have the elderly 
hero, a colonel of the Civil War of 1860, who has returned to Venice every 
fifth year for twenty-five years to woo a charming American widow. The 
young hero is the son of the widow ; and his marriage to the Colonel's eldest 
niece, — an affair which is so confidently foreseen by all concerned, that the 
lady herself replies to the lover's first protests of devotion, "I know it, 
Geof," — is supposedly the climax of the- situation. And just at this point, 
where the situation has at last attained to all its highest possibilities, comes 
one of the most remarkable things in the book : the reader is dropped gently 
down to the levels of everyday life in the space of one page, and there the 
story is ended ! 

This story is not Miss Fuller's best work. It is a pity that the author 
of " A Literary Courtship " should have taken the trouble to commit to paper 
" A Venetian June." 

The Broken Ring : a Romance, by Elizabeth Knight Tompkins. G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, New York, 1896. 

"The Broken Puns;" is indeed a romance of the most thoroughgoing 
kind. Events follow each other in as rapid and unexpected succession as 
they did in childish fairy tales, or in Anthony Hope's fable of the " Prisoner 
of Zenda." " The Broken King," however, lacks the courtliness and quaint- 
ness of speech which gave to those narratives a far away, mysterious sound, 
and made them credible. People in "The Broken Ring" have the same 
wild, mediaeval adventures as in the "Prisoner of Zenda," but they them- 


selves are not those stately, foreign, uncommon people to whom strange 
adventures seem natural. "The Broken Ring" princess talks like a 
modern schoolgirl playing princess with the few lordly phrases she knows, 
lapsing every little while into colloquialisms most undignified and American. 
All the w r ay through the book we have the notion that the author, having 
created this plot of royalty, and courts, and high life, is straining to make her 
characters maintain a correspondingly lofty tone of conversation. The 
events themselves are no more improbable than those in the " Prisoner of 
Zenda." A. princess, willful and charming, is captured and imprisoned in 
an old mill on a mountain. Her jailer is a young officer, who is in love with 
her, and who succeeds, in spite of her haughtiness and pride of rank, in mak- 
ing her love him. After several thrilling escapades in company with the 
officer, she is restored to her father's court. The officer visits her here, woos 
her again, and finally obtains a confession of her love. Thereupon he dis- 
appears suddenly for a time, only to present himself at the close of the 
story as the young king of a neighboring country with whom it will be no 
degradation to wed. In its way, the tale does not lack interest ; the situa- 
tions are often unusual and amusing; but it seems to us, as a whole, very 
young and crude. The author does not appear to have a firm hold of her 
characters nor of her style. A feeling of incongruity jars upon the reader 
from beginning to end. As a companion to the " Prisoner of Zenda," this 
romance is not to be commended. 

The Tower of the Old Schloss, by Jean Potter Rudd. G. P. Putnam's 
Sons, New York, 1896. 

This is an entertaining little story of modern life in the Austrian Tyrol. 
The heroine is beautiful, highborn, proud, but very poor, living with her 
father in a small lodge near the ruined castle of her ancestors. When the 
tale opens, she is in love with her dashing young cousin, the baron and head 
of the family. When the tale ends, she has proved the weakness and fickle- 
ness of her cousin's nature, and is content to be the wife of a man who, 
without claims to nobility of birth, is yet steadfast, honorable, and worthy of 
her confidence. As a whole, the story maintains its interest throughout. 
Not seldom the material and situations have been used already to greater 
effect by other and more powerful writers. We are reminded occasionally 
of this more skillful handling, rather to the disadvantage of the author of 


"The Tower of the Old Schloss." However, the book has a briskness 
and picturesqueness which make it far from unattractive. It is a romance 
with which one can while time away very agreeably. 

The Old Infant, by Will Carleton. Harper & Bros., New York, 1896. 

A new volume of short stories, by Will Carleton, comes from Messrs. 
Harper & Bros. It contains seven tales, from the first of which it takes its 
title. The stories are of the sort that the public expects of Mr. Carleton, 
wanting neither the twists of phrase, nor the unusual turns of plot, to which 
his readers have become accustomed. The first story of the seven is by no 
means the most readable, nor the most fully characteristic of the volume. 
Either the " Christmas Car," or the tale which now stands third, " Lost — 
Two Young Ladies," might better, one would think, have given the book its 
name. "The One Ring Circus " is of all the collection the tale in which 
the reader who does not admire Mr. Carleton's work would find the most to 
like. Nevertheless, under the name of "The Old Infant," as with any 
other title, these stories will doubtless find readers. They contain nothing 
strikingly new in theme or treatment, but they make up an attractive 
volume which admirers of Mr. Carleton may read, lay aside, and take up 
a^ain at odd moments without loss of interest. 



The spring atmosphere always has an inspiring effect on college poets, 
but the rainy season which we have been experiencing this fall seems to have 
dampened the spirits of the verse makers ; so that, though the October 
magazines show a few laudably conscientious and conventional attempts to 
express the artist's admiration for autumnal foliage, there is a peculiarly 
noticeable lack of poetry in nearly all of them. But the October monthlies 
do excel in bright and original fiction. There are also several essays which 
show good and scholarly work ; notably, one on the "Philosophy of Brown- 
ing," in the Dartmouth Lit., and one in the Smith Monthly on Carlyle. 

The Smith Monthly is an especially bright number, and we congratulate 
our sisters on the attractive new dress in which their magazine comes to us. 
The Ivy Oration, printed in this number, is full of healthy, noble senti- 
ment, which gives it a broader significance than that attached to any indi- 


vidual college festival. The "Contributor's Club" is, as usual, bright and 

The Columbia Lit. has a well told and pathetic story called "Trave." 

The Minnesota Magazine contains an especially strong story, "The 
Passing of the Fugitive. " 

The Vassal- Miscellany is a very attractive number, and the article on 
"Children and Books" is worthy of particular mention. 

The Amherst Lit. is rather cynical and melancholy in its tone. The 
weather and the season have perhaps combined to produce this mournful 
effect, and their poet, who bears the name of the honored gentleman re- 
cently a candidate for the Presidency, rather appropriately remarks : — 

"I turn me, then, with scatt'ring tears, 

To those few leaves we gathered long ago; 
Leaves, like my foolish hopes, once all aglow, 
But faded with the lapse of years." 

We clip the following verse : — 


The world's procession moves along. 

Laden with our cares and strife, 

We toil adown the paths of life 
With sober mien or song. 
But some there are who turn and weep, 

For here and there a well-loved face 

Is gone from its accustomed place. 
For these, the road too rough, too steep! 

And on this saddest, sweetest day, 

For these, we pause and pray. 

—The Smith College Monthly. 


The leaves o'er the plain lie restless, 
The pines sound low by the stream; 
The wavering notes of silvery chimes, 
That tell of the drowsy, joyous times, 
In the vale of the land of dream. 

The wind creeps over the heather, 
The owl hoots loud in its flight; 
The good ship stands for the open sea, 
In fear of the waves on the winding lea, 
Where the night falls dark and drear. 

— The Yule Literary Magazine. 



November 14. — Bible Institute. Professor Kent, of Brown, and Pro- 
fessor Saunders, of Yale. 

November 15. — Bible Institute. Professor Kent, of Brown, and Pro- 
fessor Saunders, of Yale. 

November 16. — Concert. Miss Geraldine Morgan and Mr. Paul Morgan. 

November 22. — Preaching, by Rev. Mrs. Annis F. Eastman. 

November 29. — Preaching, by President Hyde, of Bowdoin. 


The first regular programme meeting of Society Tau Zeta Epsilon was 
held October 14. The following programme was presented : — 

I. Phases of Nineteenth Century Art . Warrene Piper. 

II. Art Societies ..... Amy Boutelle. 

III. Art Collections ..... Gertrude Bailey. 

IV. Nineteenth Century Painting . . Edith Meade. 

A regular programme meeting of Society Tau Zeta Epsilon was held 
Saturday, November 7. The following papers were read : — 

I. Modern French Sculptors . . . Katherine Holmes. 

II. Sculpture in England .... Elfie Graff. 

III. Modern Sculpture in America . . Edith Dudley. 

At a regular meeting of Society Zeta Alpha, held October 17, the fol- 
lowing programme was presented : — 


I. Spain in the Sixteenth Century . . Myrtle Brotherton. 

II. The Life and Works of Cervantes . Freda Moore. 

III. Dramatization of Cervantes' short story, 

"The Gypsy Girl." 

IV. Current Topic : The Financial Situation, Katharine Wetmore. 

At a regular meeting of Society Zeta Alpha, held November 7, the fol- 
lowing programme was presented : — 


I. Don Quixote and its two sequels . . Elizabeth Evans. 

II. Cervantes' Delineation of Character. ' 

(a) Character Sketch of Don Quixote . Alice Wright. 

(b) Character Sketch of Sancho Panza . Eliza Craig. 
III. Current Topic : Mr. George and the Junior 

Republic ..... Virginia Schoonover. 

A regular meeting of the Agora was held in Elocution Hall on Wednes- 
day, October 21. The impromptu speeches were as follows : — 

I. Bryan's Tour in the East .... Martha Griswold. 
II. The Postal Election in Illinois, and its 

Significance ..... Ruth Goodwin. 

III. The Present Situation in Armenia . . Helen Damon. 

The programme of the evening was then presented : — 

I. The Presidential Candidates : 

(a) McKinley Caroline Davis. 

(6) Palmer Mary Cross. 

(c) Bryan Miss Coman. 

II. The Present Outlook .... Mary Capen. 

At a regular meeting of Society Phi Sigma, held October 28, Miss 
Bates lectured on Symbolism. 

A regular meeting of the Shakespeare Society was held October 31. 
The following programme was presented : — 

I. Shakespeare News ..... Julia Hill. 

II. The Choice of Subjects of Shakespeare's 

Historical Plays ..... Louise Loomis. 

III. Dramatic Representation, Richard II., Act 

IV., Scene 1. 

IV. The Sources of King John . . Louise McDowell. 
V. The Characters of the two kings, Richard 

II. and Bolingbroke .... Flora Skinner. 
VI. Dramatic Representation, King Richard II., 
Act V., Scene 1. 



By an oversight in our last issue, no mention was made of the new 
telegraph office, opening out of the general office, with both telegraphic 
and long-distance telephone connections. This arrangement does away with 
the old delay and inconvenience of receiving all telegrams through the vil- 
lage office. Our office is open during the regular Western Union hours, 
from eight to eight. Miss Mary Beaumont is in charge. 

The officers of the Undergraduate Chapter of the College Settlement 
Association for '96-97 are the following : president, Miss Evans, '97 ; vice 
presidents: Faculty, Miss Coman ; '97, Miss Crumb; '98, Miss Capron; '99, 
Miss Skinner ; 1900, Miss Bissell ; Special, Miss Converse ; secretary and 
treasurer, Miss Marks, '99. 

The organization of the College Athletic Association is now completed. 
The officers are as follows : president, Miss Plympton, '99 ; vice president, 
Miss Edgett, '97 ; secretary, Miss G. Hoge, '98 ; treasurer, Miss Sargeant, 
'98 ; executive committee, ex officio, Miss Plympton ; member at large, 
Miss Mason, '99 ; senior member, Miss Graff, '97 ; heads of sports — 
crews, Miss Hutcheson, '97 ; golf, Miss Loughridge, '98 ; basket ball, Miss 
Barker, '98 ; bicycling, Miss Cottrell, '98. The '97 crew has been the first 
to organize. Miss Louise Hutcheson is captain, Miss Agnes Bacon, cox- 

Oct. 1 7. — A Republican rally was held in the barn at half past seven 
o'clock. Miss M. E. Haskell, '97, presided. The speakers were as 
follows : 

1. Miss Haskell (in the absence of Miss Grace Dennison, '97), "The 
Deplorable Condition of the Country;" 2. Miss Winifred Loughridge, '98, 
"The Condition of the Country Due to Business Distrust;" 3. Miss Mary 
Malone, '98, "The Unit of Value,— 16 to 1 ; " 4. Miss Martha Griswold, 
'99, "The History of Silver in the United States;" 5. Miss Frida Ray- 
nal, '97, "The United States Alone is Unable to Maintain Parity;" 6. 
Miss Edna Patterson, '98, "Free Silver Means a Silver Basis;" 7. Miss 
Charlotte Marshall, '98, " The Condition of Countries now on a Silver 
Basis;" 8. Miss Louise Barker, '98, "Free Silver Would Most Injure the 


Poor;" 9. Miss Maude McClaiy, '99, "The Farmers Will Suffer;" 10. 
Miss Augusta Fordharn, '98, "It is Unreasonable to Cry Out Against "Wait- 
ing for International Agreement Because of Hostility to England;" 11. Miss 
Louise Baldwin, '98, "Free Silver Means Repudiation;" 12. Miss Clara 
Brown, '99, "Character of the Silver Campaign." 

A torchlight procession, several hundred strong, marched from the 
barn about the hill and the m:iin building, after the rally. 

Oct. 18. — Doctor Lyman Abbott, of Brooklyn, preached in the chapel. 

Oct. 19. — Mr. Wm. C. Carl, of New York, gave an organ recital in 
the chapel. 

Oct. 20 and 21. — A registration office, after the plan of the State 
registration offices, was open all day for the students, under the auspices of 
the Agora. All members of the College who wished to vote for the presi- 
dential candidates, were registered in the official manner. 

Oct. 24. — A Free Silver rally was held in the barn at half past seven 
o'clock, Miss Margaret Starr, '97, presiding. The following speeches were 
made : — 

1. Miss Bernice Kelly, '99, "The Demonetization of '73;" 2. Miss 
Helen Atkins, '97, "The History of Silver as Money;" 3. Miss Kathrina 
Storms, '99, "Bimetallism as Advocated by Blaine and McKinley ; " 4. 
Miss Helen Sumner, '99, "Repudiation;" 5. Miss Jessie Wagner, '99, 
"The Conduct of the Campaign;" 6. Miss Ethel Stern, '99, "The Work- 
ingman's View of the Question;" 7. Miss Mary Davis, '98, "Comparison 
of Candidates;" 8. Miss Corinne Wagner, '99, "A Summing up of the 
Previous Arguments." 

A procession, starting from the barn after the rally, went about the 
grounds. The Magazine forbears to comment, from a strictly gold-standard 
point of view, upon the lack of illumination of this body ; either to draw 
comparisons, or to interpret the fact as symbolically significant. 

Oct. 25. — The Rev. Floyd Tompkins, of Providence, preached in the 

In the afternoon the Shakespeare Society invited the members of the 
other societies to a vesper service in the chapel. Miss Berenice Crumb gave 
a very beautiful piano programme with selections from Bach, Grieg, Chopin, 
Schubert, and Schumann. 


Oct. 26. — Mr. Edward Atkinson lectured in the chapel, at half past 
seven, on "The Financial Situation from a Gold Standpoint." 

Oct. 28. — Miss Stratton received the seniors and freshmen living in 
College Hall in the Faculty parlor, from seven to eight. 

Oct. 31. — Mr. Robert Treat Paine lectured in the chapel, at quarter 
past four, on "The Finance Question from a Bimetallist Standpoint." 

Hallowe'en was celebrated in all the houses except the Main Building. 
At Stone Hall there was a "Looking Backwards" party, with dancing and 
refreshments. At Norumbega a farce was given, " First Aid to the Injured." 
At Freeman there was dancing and a suitable Hallowe'en supper of nuts, ap- 
ples, bonbons, and a Hallowe'en cake with the mystic ring, thimble, button, 
and penny. At Wood two farces were given, "A Bicycle Farce" and "A 
Shakespeare Wooing," followed by dancing and refreshments. At Simpson 
men Avere invited ; there were Hallowe'en games and a driftwood tire ; Miss 
Morgan read a parody on the scene between Marley and Scrooge, in the 
" Christmas Carol." At the Eliot there was a negro minstrel entertainment, 
to which the village students were invited. At Fiske charades were given. 

Nov. 1. — The Rev. W. E. Huntington preached in the chapel. After 
vespers Miss Dudley, the head worker at Denison House, Boston, gave a 
talk in the chapel on the College Settlement idea and life. 

Nov. 2. — A delegation of the College Settlement Chapter went to an 
evening reception at Denison House, given in honor of the new house, 91 
Tyler Street. This has been connected with the "old house," 93 Tyler 
Street, to the great increase of the comfort and efficiency of the Settlement. 
The pageant given at the opening of No. 91 is described in the College 
Settlement news under Alumnae Notes. 

A vocal concert was held in the chapel at half past seven. The follow- 
ing artists sang : Miss C. G. Clarke, soprano, Miss K. M. Rickers, con- 
tralto, Mr. H. A. Thayer, tenor, and Mr. A. W. Wellington, bass. 

Nov. 3. — The college vote, taken under the management of the Agora, 
resulted as follows: McKinley and Hobart, 477 ; Palmer and Buckner, 23; 
Bryan and Sewall, 21. During the evening the actual returns were posted 
from time to time, as learned, on a bulletin in the first floor center. Great 
excitement was the result of the correction at half past nine of a false report 
that had come early in the evening that Illinois had gone for free silver. 


Much credit for its orderliness is due to the very excited crowd that gathered 
in the first and second floor centers and stairs. 

At one o'clock Wednesday morning a dozen students in the Main Build- 
ing learned the decisive returns by the long-distance telephone. Messages 
were sent to Stone Hall and the cottages. In the Main Building the news 
of Major McKinley's election was carried, between one and two o'clock, to the 
rooms of all those who had signified that they wished it done. 

On Wednesday morning the center in the Main Building was given up 
to cheering from breakfast until nine o'clock, with the interval of chapel. 
"America" was sung three times, once in the course of the chapel service, 
and twice in the center. Flags were carried into the chapel, and when the 
beautiful one belonging to the Agora was brought in and draped over the 
desk, the whole house rose in a body to salute it. 

Nov. 4 — Miss Stratton received the juniors in College Hall, in the 
Faculty parlor, from seven until eight. 

Nov. 7. — Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer, and Professor Joseph Le Conte, 
of California University, visited the College. 

A number of students, chaperoned by Miss Woolley, Dr. Roberts, and 
Miss Fisher, went to the ball game at Cambridge. A large party, chap- 
eroned by Miss Morgan, went to the picture play given at the Maugus Club 
in.Wellesley Hills. 

Nov. 8. — Dr. James M. Gray, of Boston, preached in the chapel. 

Nov. 9. — A discussion of the "Outcome of the Present Campaign" was 
held in the gymnasium at half past seven o'clock, under the auspices of the 
Agora. Before the lecture of the evening, given by Miss Coman, speakers 
representing different sections of the country gave accounts of the campaign 
in their own States. Miss Painter, '97, spoke of New York ; Miss Johnson, 
'97, of Pennsylvania ; Miss Sumner, '99, of South Dakota; Miss Atkins, 
'97, of Colorado ; Miss H. C. Wagner, '99, of Mississippi ; and Miss Haskell, 
'97, of South Carolina. 

Nov. 11. — The Misses Claypole received members of the classes in 
Zoology in their rooms at Stone Hall. 

Nov. 12. — Dr. Alexander McKenzie led the first of the Bible Institute 
meetings in the chapel at quarter past seven. His subject was "The Mes- 
sianic Ideals of the Prophets." 


Mrs. Angell, wife of the president of Michigan University, was enter- 
tained at Freeman by Miss Dennison and Miss Caswell. 

Miss Stratton was in New York from November 3 to November 12. 
She was joined on the 7th by Mrs. Butler, who returned also on the 12th. 

Nov. 12, 14, and 15. — A Bible Institute on " The Messianic Ideals of 
the Hebrew Prophets" was conducted by Rev. Alexander McKenzie, D.D., 
of First Church, Cambridge, Prof. Frank K. Sanders, of Yale, and Prof. 
Charles F. Kmu% of Brown. Dr. McKenzie gave the opening lecture Thurs- 
day evening, on "The Gospel in the Old Testament." Saturday afternoon, 
Professor Sanders spoke on the "Ideals of Amos and Hosea"; and in the 
evening on the "Ideals of Isaiah and Micah." Professor Kent lectured on 
Sunday morning on the "Ideals of Jeremiah, and the Prophet of the 
Exile," and again at night on " The Temporal and the Permanent Elements 
in Messianic Prophecy." 

Miss Helen K. Smith, '97, has been seriously ill for several weeks, and 
will be unable to return to college this year. As soon as she is strong 
enough she will go to her home in California. 


Rev. J. E. Tuttle, the husband of Mrs. Anna Stockbridge Tuttle, '80, 
has resigned his position at Amherst, and has accepted a call to Worcester, 


Miss Alice H. Luce, '83, is not an instructor at Bryn Mawr, as reported 
in the October number of the Magazine, but holds a position at Smith Col- 
lege. Miss Luce took her Ph.D. from Heidelberg University last spring, 
and has the honor of being one of the first women allowed to matriculate 
there, her permission for matriculation having been especially granted by the 
Grand Duke of Baden. 

Miss Eliza Hall Kendrick, '85, is teaching at Lasell Seminary, Auburn- 
dale, Mass. 

The address of Mrs. Alice Wetherbee Moorhouse, formerly of '87, is 
189 Bradley Street, New Haven, Conn. 


The family of Miss Edith M. James, '89, have moved to Portland, Ore- 
gon, and after October 1 her address in that city ■will be 370 Fourteenth 

Mary J. Orton, '89, remains in the same position in the Williamstown 
(Mass.) High School. 

Sarah H. Grotf, '89, and Frances Palen, '89, are teaching in the Girls' 
High School, Philadelphia. 

Elizabeth B. Mason, '90, is teaching in the Lutherville Seminary, Lu- 
therville, Maryland. 

Susan W. Child, '90, is teaching in the High School at Lynn, Mass. 

The engagement of Flora A. Hall, '91, has been announced. Miss 
Hall spent the past summer in traveling through Italy, Switzerland, and 

Susan L. Cushman, '91, is teaching in the High School in Medford, 

Harriet E. Tuell, '91, is teaching History in the High School at 
Winsted, Conn. 

The address for the coming winter of Miss G. M. W. Fanning, '91, 
will be 65 Livingston Street, Brooklyn, New York. Miss Fanning is teach- 
ing History and French in the Brooklyn Manual Training High School. 

Edith G. Long, '92, has been since July, 1895, Pastor's Helper at the 
South Congregational Church, Bridgeport, Conn. 

Florence A. Wing, '92, is teaching in the High School at Orange, Mass. 

Mary E. Holmes, '92, is studying at Chicago University. 

Clara M. Burt, '92, is studying at Barnard College, New York. 

.Caroline S. Maddocks, '92, holds the position of Dean at Washburn 
College, Topeka, Kansas. Miss Maddocks also teaches English Literature 
at that college. 

Marion N. Wilcox and Helen L. Burr, both of '93, are teaching in 
the Medford Hisrh School, Medford, Mass. 


Marion E. Bradbury, '93, is teaching this year in the High School at 
Williraantic, Conn. 

Marion W. Anderson, '94, is teaching at the Springfield Seminary, in 
Springfield, Ohio. 

Beatrice Stepanek, '95, is teaching Greek and Latin in the High School 
at Canton, New York. 

Elizabeth Brown, '95, is traveling in Europe. 

Mary C. Adams, '95, is teaching in the Medford High School, Medford, 

Katharine Lord, '95, is teaching English, History, and English Litera- 
ture at St. Catharine's Hall, Brooklyn, New York. 

Helen Dennis, '95, is studying medicine at the "Woman's Medical Col- 
lege, New York City. 

Isabella H. Fiske, '96, is studying History and English at Radcliffe 

Louise Tayler, '96, is teaching in the Mary Brigham Institute, Pater- 
son, New Jersey. 

Jennie R. Beale, '96, has changed her home from Frederick City, Mary- 
land, to Philadelphia, and her address is now 821 Franklin Street, Phila- 

Frances K. Pullen, '96, is teaching in the Morgan School at Portsmouth, 
N. H. 

Ruth I. Eager, special '93-96, is the teacher of Literature in Forest 
Park University, St. Louis, Mo. 

Helen F. Cooke, '96, is teaching in the Osgood School, Cohasset, Mass. 


Wellesley visitors in Tyler Street this autumn have doubtless been de- 
lighted by the many changes and improvements accomplished for Denison 
House during the summer months. The Settlement is no longer a small, 
cramped tenement, with all its internal activities jostling each other from 
lack of room ; it is a spacious dwelling, newly papered and painted, and 


systematically differentiated into parlor, assembly room, classrooms, cham- 
bers, etc. Ninety-one Tyler Street has been added to ninety-three, and the 
two houses are now connected by doors cut through upon the staircases on 
each floor. The house is therefore twice as large as it used to be, and, we 
hope, will be found ten times more attractive by our neighbors, and more 
effective for good. 

Wellesley friends who have taught classes at Denison House in past 
years, will be pleased to learn that such classes are no longer conducted in 
the bedrooms of the residents, in the parlor, the dining-room, or the china 
closet. There is on the second floor of the new house a large class room, 
furnished with desk, chairs, shelves, cupboards, blackboard, and other para- 
phernalia of class-room work. There are in the basement, besides the 
kitchen, two class rooms ; one for sloyd carpentry, the other for cooking 
classes. The assembly room may be used during a small part of the day as 
a public Kindergarten, the teacher appointed by the city assisted by one of 
the Settlement residents, also a graduate kindergartner. The accommoda- 
tions for residents have also been increased ; the house can now accommodate 
thirteen, while it formerly held but eight. This increase in the number of 
residents has made it possible for some few to be allowed to live here with- 
out devoting themselves actively and entirely to the routine work of the 
Settlement. These few, by paying a slightly higher rate of board than the 
residents proper, may live at Denison House, and avow their sympathy with 
the spirit of the life, while they pursue their own vocations. Such residents 
we regard as a distinct gain to the Settlement ; they make it less of an insti- 
tution ; they bring about more of what it is striving after, — living for our fel- 
low-men not agressively, but companionably. 

The joy and pride of the new house is the assembly room, the Wellesley 
parlor. The room is a beautiful gift to the neighborhood ; and we of Welles- 
ley know what a happiness it is to us to have such a gift called by our name. 
The room has been made by removing all the partitions on the first floor of 
ninety-one. Parlor, dining room, hall, and china closet, are thrown into 
one large apartment, and the front door has become a broad window, with a 
cozy window-seat below it, and diamond panes in its upper sash. The stair- 
case comes down into the room, and the effect, architecturally, is charming. 
The coloring is green ; the wainscot is stained dark green, and the plain 


cartridge paper above it is light green and cool. The room has been kept 
largely free of furniture, and the effect produced is one of refreshing space 
and quietness. The pictures are some of those which were in the other 
house ; the large painting of the child learning to make bread, gains greatly 
by being in a larger room; the smaller painting of the Italian mother rocking 
her baby is also here, the Fitzroy picture of the children and the dead dove, 
and the brown crayon of the mother and child saying good night. The cast 
of Lucca Delia Robbia singing boys has been transferred from the old 
parlor, and there are two new casts, — the Delia Robbia bas relief of the 
Madonna worshiping the Baby among the lilies ; and a splendid cast of the 
Venus de Milo. These with the dainty white curtains at the windows, and 
the pretty green and white balustrade of the staircase, decorate the room 
without overcrowding it. 

At the first party given at Denison House this season, the house-warm- 
ing, perhaps two hundred neighbors were present. A pageant was enacted 
in the lighting of the hearth-fire ; and although some of the Wellesley people 
witnessed the repetition of this little ceremony a few days ago, there may 
have been some who were interested in the house and were, nevertheless, un- 
able to come to the reception, so there will be no harm in describing the 
pageant here. 

Some of the lyrics at the end of the "Midsummer Night's Dream" 
were adopted, — the lyrics where the fairies go through the house, blessing it. 
Our fairies were little girls from the neighborhood, dressed in fairy finery 
loaned by the Wellesley Shakespeare Society. To these fairy dresses, in 
most cases, scarlet mob-caps were added, as ours were household fairies. 

The following is the pageant ; most of the words are Shakespeare's. 
There was, however, no incantation for the lighting of the fire in " Midsum- 
mer Night's Dream," and we were obliged to use an incantation written by 
one of the Wellesley friends of the Settlement. 


Fairies come down the stairs singing a kindergarten song about seven 
little fairies. 

First, fairy queen, dressed in white, with scarlet paper maple leaves on 
head and shoulders ; second, two fairies with lighted tapers ; third, fairy 



with bunch of autumn leaves; fourth, fairy with small feather duster; fifth, 
three fairies with small brooms. Fairies gather round the hearth, and queen 
advances, saying, — 

"Now the hungry lion roars, 

And the wolf behowls the moon ; 

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 

All with weary task fordone. 

And we fairies that do run 

By the triple Hecate's team, 
_ From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 

Now are frolic : not a mouse 

Shall disturb this hallow' d house. 

I am sent with broom before, 

To sweep the dust behind the door." 

Fairies all sweep. Queen then takes a taper and as she lights the fire 

chants the incantation : — 

"Burn, fire burn! 
Flicker, flicker, flame! 
Whose hand above this blaze is lifted, 
Shall be with magic touch engifted 
To warm the hearts of chilly mortals 
Who dwell without these open portals. 
The touch shall draw them to this fire, 
Nigher, nigher, 

By desire. 
Whoso shall stand 
On this hearthstone 
Shall never, never, never, stand alone. 
Whose house is dark, and bare, and old, 
Whose hearth is cold, 

This is his own ! 
Flicker, flicker, flicker, flame! 
Burn, fire, burn ! " 

Queen then says to fairies :- 

" Through the house give glimmering light, 

By the dim and drowsy fire: 
Every elf and fairy sprite 

Hop as light as bird on brier; 
And this ditty, after me 
Sing, and dance it trippingly." 


Fairy with duster then says : — 

" First rehearse your song by rote, 
To each word a warbling note : 
Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
Will we sing, and bless this place." 

Fairies dance in a ring around the queen, who holds the tapers. Queen 

then says : — 

" Now, until the break of day, 
Through this house each fairy stray." 

Queen takes bunch of leaves from fairy and distributes the sprays say- 

"With this field-dew consecrate, 
Every fairy take his gait; 
And each several chamber bless, 
Through this palace, with sweet peace;'' 

Fairies go up stairs, queen following, saying, — 

" And the owners of it blest 
Ever shall in safety rest. 
Trip away; make no stay; 
Meet me all by break of day." 

Fairies are heard singing their song upstairs. 

Denison House is glad to have all Wellesley girls come in to see the 
new room and the new house, whether the girls are members of the Associa- 
tion or not. 


Lectures on current topics are given every Sunday evening at the 
Philadelphia Settlement. The young men of the neighborhood are greatly 
interested in the issues at stake in the present presidential campaign, and 
the Sunday evenings during October have been devoted to discussions of 
the two great questions involved in the contest, — the tariff and the monetary 

Under the auspices of the Philadelphia Branch of the A. C. A., a 
series of six illustrated lectures, by Prof. Thomas Whitney Surette, of Balti- 
more, will be given in connection with University Extension work, at the 
Philadelphia Settlement. The object of the course is to present and explain 
classical music in such a manner that it may be understood and appreciated 
by plain people who have had no opportunity for a musical education. 


The College Settlement Association held its full meeting in Philadelphia 
this year. The business meeting of the Electoral Board took place on 
Saturday, October 24th. On Monday evening, October 26th, a public meet- 
ing was held, to which all interested in Settlement work were invited. The 
President of the Association, Miss Susan G. Walker, of Washington, Dr. 
Jane E. Robbins, Headworker of the New York Settlement, Miss Helena S. 
Dudley, now in charge of the Boston Settlement, and Miss Eaton and Dr. 
Spiers, of Philadelphia, gave addresses on various phases of the movement. 

Miss Cornelia Warren, Treasurer of the College Settlement Association, 
spent a w T eek during October at the Philadelphia Settlement. 

S. H. Groff, 
Vice-elector, C. S. A. 


Ranney-Burbank. — In Webster, X. H., Oct. 28, Miss Alice M. Bur- 
bank, formerly of '95, to William B.*Ranney. 


November 8, 1896, at Oberlin, Ohio, a son, Harold Emery, to Mrs. 
Henrietta Middlekauff Gates. 

August, 1896, at Haddonfield, N. J., a son, Roland Crocker, to Mrs. 
Caroline Crocker Davies, '87. 


In Barnstable, Mass., Nov. 4, 1896, Rev. A. H. Quint, the father of 
Katharine Quint, '89. 

In Arlington, Mass., Nov. 11, 1896, the father of Agnes Damon, '93, 
and of Helen Damon, '98. 

In Albany, N.Y., Oct. 31, 1896, Capt. David A. Taylor, the father of 
Marion L. Taylor, '95. 

In Marensfo, Iowa, October 31, Agnes Sinclair Holbrook, '92. 



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IO.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (except Sunday) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p.m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


. . FOR . . 

Hartford, New Havens New York. 



9.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 3.30 p. m. 

1 1.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 5.28 p. m. 

12.00 m. (except Sunday) 5.32 p. m. 

4.00 p. m. (daily) 10.00 p. m. 

(New Equipment built by the Pullman Co.) 

11.00 p.m. (daily) 6.41 a. m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., appty- 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Agent* 



The attention of students is called to our 
new Carbonettes. These are photographic 
reproductions in brown tone, closely imita- 
ting imported Carbons, but at our usual 
prices. We have added also a new line of 
picture frames especially adapted for students' 
rooms, giving artistic effects at very reasona- 
ble prices. 

Soule Photograph Co., 

338 Washington Street, Boston. 

Wright & Ditson. 

new England's leading athletic outfitters. 

Every Requisite for . . . 

Athletic Sports and Pastimes 

Golf, Tennis, basket Ball, 
skating, etc. 

Gymnasium, Fencingand Outing Uniforms 
of every description. 

Prompt and careful attention given to mail orders. 

Wright & Ditson, 

No. 344 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 

XHHellesle^ Jpbarmaop, 


Pure Drugs and Medicines. 

Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 


Fine Stationery and Engraving House 

1121 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 



Heraldry and Genealogy a Specialty. 

Coats of Arms Painted for Framing. 


Roman's Medical College of the 

New York Infirmary for Women and Children. 

AESSION '96-97 opens October 1, 1S96. Four years, Graded Course. 
^""^ Instruction by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under 
supervision in Laboratories, and Dispensary of College, and in New York 
Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals and Dis- 
pensaries open to Women Students. For Catalogues, etc., address 

321 East Fifteenth Street, 
New York. 


As a Rule - 

When a girl leaves college she soon becomes en- 
gaged, and then the first thing she does is to buy 
table linens. Therefore, always ask for linens 
manufactured by 

Erskine Beveridge & Company, Limited, 
which are the best, and can be found at all the 
large Retail Dry Goods Stores. 

Stationer and Picture Dealer. 

Special attention given to Framing 
Pictures at reasonable prices, jtjtjt 

It is of easy access by the Electric Cars. 

No. 2 riain Street, Natick, Hass. 


Trimmed and Untrimmed Hats. 
Bicycle and Walking Hats a Specialty. 

Our Dress-lining Department is the 
largest in the city. J* Jt jt jt Ji ^t 
Special prices to Wellesley Students. 

H. W. 




Klellesley Preparatory, 


For circular address the Principals, 


Established 1843. Incorporated 1S95. 


Largest Stock and Lowest 
Prices on 


Mathematical Instruments, 

Drawing Materials and Picture Frames 



Importers and Wholesale Dealers, 

' Special Rates to Colleges." 

New Illustrated Catalogue Free. 



It is generally conceded that a stringed instrument 
is almost an absolute necessity. To secure the 
greatest enjoyment from the purchase get the best 
your money will afford. Expert judgment 
pronounces the "Bay State" instruments 
the finest in the world. An excellent instru- 
ment is the 


We have in stock cheaper banjos than this, 
1 but for a substantial, serviceable instrument 
* at a low price, no other instrument manufac- 
tured can compare with it. Send for illus- 
trated catalogue. 

453-463 Washington Street, Boston. 




FULL LINE of Hand Cameras and 
Material<>*<£*t^Negatives Developed. 
Prints Made and Mounted*£«^<^ 


Wellesley Graduates are always in demand. 
Register now. 


William F. Jarvis, Manager. 

Send for registration blanks and circulars 




A Large Variety in the Latest Styles. 

Fancy Goods, Novelties, Picture Frames, 
Bicycles, etc., etc. 


i€> Main Street, Naiick, Mass. 

PRI NTI NG^^ jjLjijijLjtjL 

First-Class Work. Prompt Service. 

Class and Society Printing a Specialty. 

We Guarantee Satisfaction. 

"The Bulletin Press," 

18 Main Street, ISaticlt, Mass. 

i\.lQ VjlOVeS, Hosiery, Underwear and Ribbons, Embroidery 
Silks, Stamped Linens, Denims, Art Muslins, and Cretonnes.^^** 

J. B, Leamy, Natick, Mass. 

lO per cent discount to all 

Professors and Students of 
Wellesley College. 

Artists'. . . 

Drafting Instruments. Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

wmsworm, Rowland & Co., s=a> 88 and 84 Wasojogioo St., Boston. 

Branch Store in the Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, near St. James Avenue. Principal Factories, Maiden. 

Mass., and South Paris, Maine. 


The Young Ladies' Attention is called to something 
very attractive in a 

French Flannel Shirt Waist, 

which has been made to order in the most Fashionable 
colors and very "Chic" style for 


No. 44 Temple Place, Boston. 

The Young Ladies should make a special examination of these Waists, as they are 

proving wonderfully satisfactory. 


335 Washington Street, Boston. 

College Athletic and Gymnasium Outfitters. 


Crew Sweaters and Jerseys, which are also suitable for all athletic purposes, made to order in any 

style in the best manner. 
A Discount of 10 per cent is given Wellesley students on individual orders. Special net rates for crew or team orders. 

T|e Senior Glass Piiotoppfyer 


for Wellesley '94 and '95 

In all Departments of Literature 


Can be found at our store. The largest as- 

Charles W. Hearn, 

sortment in Boston of the popular and stand- 
ard authors. Also a large variety at special 

392 Boylston Street, 

reductions. Large variety of Bibles, Prayer 


Books, Booklets, etc. 

Mr. Hearn thanks Wellesley students for 
their past valued patronage, and would be 

We are noted for low prices. 

a view to his possible selection as Class Pho- 
tographer for Wellesley '97. 


Charles W. Hearn. 

De Wolfe, Fiske & Co., 

Nos. 361 and 365 Washington Street, Boston. 

O. A. Jenkins & Co. 


Ladies' Sailor and English Walking Hats 
of our own Importation. & Exclusive Styles. 

Sole Agents for Connelly's New York Turbans. 


^^ Y\ /^tf-^Q All the latest styles in Narrow, Medium, 

^ A ■* v-f V^O • • • • and Wide Toes. Special attention given 
to making shapes recommended by leading surgeons. Button 
and Lace Boots and Oxford Ties, in Black, Russet, and Patent 
Leather. The largest assortment of Bicycle and Tennis Goods 
to be found in Boston. Party Boots, Shoes and Slippers in 
great variety. 

ST"!— , r T - E - MOSELEY & CO., 

Faculty and Students of * 

Weiiesiev College. 469 Washington Street, Boston. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Oriental Carpets and Rugs. Axminsters, Wilton and 

Brussels Carpets. 

We are now ready to show the finest line we ever opened in 

Foreign and Domestic Carpets. 

All new in style, and adapted to the present furnishings. 
Our own special patterns. Our open stock is full at prices lower than ever. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Near corniiiii. 163 to 169 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. 

In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Professors and 
Students a discount, generally 10 per cent. 

We deliver all goods free of express charges at Wellesley College and Dana Hall. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place, - - BOSTON, MASS. 


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Ladies' and Children's 

Specialty Garment House. 

Young Ladies' Coats, Suits, 
Wraps, Fur Capes, Rain-proof 
Garments, Silk Petticoats, 
and Tea Gowns. 

The Latest Paris and Berlin Novelties 

Always in Stock at 
Moderate Prices. . . 

531 and 533 Washington Street, Boston 

Next door to Boston Theatre. 

Frank Wood, Printer, Boston.